King's Bane
by Ultra-Geek
Summary: It's Edmund’s 13th Birthday. But all’s not well, what with a rebellion rising in Narnia and the White Witch appearing everywhere he looks…
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** King's Bane  
**Summery:** Its Edmund's 13th Birthday. But all's not well, what with a rebellion rising in Narnia and the White Witch appearing everywhere he looks…set in the Golden Age  
**Author:** Ultra-Geek  
**Disclaimer:** Though I did get to see one of the wardrobes that may've started the Chronicles, I own nothing.  
**Rating:** T  
**AN – **This is my first foray into the fandom that is Chronicles of Narnia. I'm a huge fan of the books – have been for years – and I absolutely adore the new movies. As a result, this, and any other Narnia fics I spin out there in the future, will share influences from both the book and movie-verses.

* * *

Edmund dashed madly down the hall. He needed to find a place to hide; she was coming! There wasn't much time, for all ready he could hear her feet coming down the corridor from behind him. _Click click click click click_ went her heels against the marble floors. He looked to his left, and – Perfect!

He dove behind a statue of a centaur and hunkered down next to the wall. After the last time she'd caught him, he couldn't take any chances for it to happen again. He wondered if he'd made it there in time, or if he'd been spotted. All would be lost if she'd seen him. Everything he'd worked for, all the time he'd spent fleeing, and –

"Oh, Edmund dear, there you are!" she called. He flinched.

Edmund wondered, not for the first time that week, if maybe going and fighting those giants might be the best course. Never mind it would cause a war that would last – at Oreius' best estimate – five months and probably end with him getting killed, or at least mortally wounded. What did it matter that the locals were showing all signs of being able to sort the dispute out by themselves? Really, all of that was much more appealing to the young king than the prospect facing him now…

Susan shook her head and looked down at her brother. "Really, its not all that noble to be hiding like that," she said. In her arms were two pieces of fabric.

Edmund stood up. "I wasn't _hiding_," he protested. "I was just…looking for something."

"What?" asked Susan, raising an eyebrow.

He thought for a moment, and then his shoulders slumped as he sighed. "My dignity, I suppose."

"Did you find it?"

"No…"

"Well, then, perhaps you can tell me which of these you prefer for the table spread at the feast?" Susan held up the two pieces of cloth.

"Uh," Edmund squinted. "Su, those are identical to each other,"

"No, they're not," Susan corrected him sternly. "This one," – she held up the fabric on the right – "Is blue with silver stitching. And this one," – the eldest Queen contemplated the left piece – "Is blue with _gray _stitching."

Edmund tried to see the difference, he really did. "I don't know, whichever you like,"

Susan sighed the sigh of a weary person about to launch into an explanation said many times. "Edmund, how many times must I tell you? This is the first birthday party we get to throw you at Cair Paravel! Last year you were helping with a dispute in the Western Woods. And the year before you were held up by the land negotiations in the North,"

What Susan didn't know about either of those things was that Edmund had diffused both situations – neither of which really merited a King's attention – well before his twelfth and eleventh birthdays. The incident in the North had been resolved within days, and it had really been the return trip that caused him to miss his birthday. There had been presents to spare by the time he returned, so he felt he hadn't lost anything. And the 'dispute' in the Western Woods was created by a naiad and a dryad arguing over who got to groom Philip, which caused the poor Horse to send for reinforcements from the Cair as they wouldn't allow him to leave until they decided. Again, Edmund had gotten the good food and gifts. But he'd managed to dodge – both years – the critical point of birthdays that drove him near wild with boredom.

Oh, how Edmund despised birthday parties thrown for him. All these people, or Animals or creatures, who he didn't know but knew him coming up and exclaiming things about himself. He never quite grasped how to respond.

But Susan would not be denied. Neither would Lucy. And Peter, the 'dear' brother who was supposed to be watching out for him, knew of his loathing of birthday parties, and simply egged the girls on.

"Edmund? Are you even listening to me?"

"What?" he blinked. "Oh, sorry Susan."

She shook her head with disdain, dark curls bouncing to and fro. "Now, it isn't as if it's a difficult decision! Silver, or gray stitching?"

"Gray," Edmund said.

Susan contemplated to two swaths. "Are you positive? I think that I like the silver better…"

"Then silver!" Edmund threw up his hands into the air.

Susan beamed at him. "There! Now, was that so difficult?" She kissed his cheek and walked off down the passage.

Edmund waited before she was out of earshot. "Yes, it was that difficult," he muttered as he all but ran towards the pastures. Maybe he couldn't go wage a war on giants, but he could at least get out of the castle for a while. And it wasn't even as if he was shirking on his Kingly duties; Peter had made sure that almost every thing that wanted his brother's attention was diverted to either himself, Susan or Lucy.

Which, in turn, left Edmund out of things to do by nine and spending the rest of his day dodging the girls who nagged him about the party, and otherwise bored out of his wits.

"Oi! Philip!" Edmund called over the fence. Philip's head rose from the grazing herd of talking Horses that lived in the Cair. He tossed his head and trotted over.

"King Edmund," Philip greeted, butting his nose lightly against Edmund's chest. In turn, Edmund patted his neck. "May I be of service?"

"Not officially," Edmund said, looking away slightly. "More of a practice in…evasion…tactics?"

"From your siblings, I presume?" Philip asked. Edmund shrugged in answer. Philip sighed. "Then I shall need my saddle. Come, your Majesty."

The two walked off towards the stables. Edmund was about to walk to grab Philip's equipment, and he stopped his foot just in time from stepping on the barn Cat's tail. "My apologies, good lady," he said.

The Cat, Mella, blinked up at him. She bowed slightly. "No harm done, Majesty," said Mella.

"Madam," Edmund said, taking note both of her swollen belly and purse slung about her neck. "Were you going somewhere?"

"Aye, King Edmund. Just over to the Apothecary's for my supplements." she said. "Going to have my first litter of kittens,"

Edmund saw the chance; Philip saw the familiar gleam in Edmund's eyes, and rolled his own. "In your condition? Allow me to make the journey for you."

"Really, your Majesty," Mella said. "I can manage."

"Nonsense, my good Cat," Edmund replied from next to Philip. "You're close to your due date, yes?"

Mella looked self consciously at her swollen stomach. "Aye, King Edmund. Next week. But I can make it to the Apothecary's. 'Tis just up the road a ways."

"I feel I must insist, madam," he said.

"_Edmund_!" Lucy's voice came from back at the palace. "_Susan wants you!"_

"I shall return shortly," Edmund said to the Cat. "And Philip? Perhaps bareback…?"

Mella bowed the best a pregnant Cat could. "Then I thank you, truly, your Majesty."

Peter's voice came from around the corner. "He's probably around here somewhere, Lu. Most likely trying to escape…"

"Run, Philip! Run!" Edmund hissed, half-climbing, half-jumping, and all scrambling onto Philip.

"Yes, sire," Philip said, snorting and laughing. He took off down the road. Edmund looked over his shoulder in time to see Peter and Lucy talking to Mella before they vanished around a bend in the road. Philip gradually slowed to a canter, then a trot and finally an easy gait as they took lesser-known roads to the apothecary's. "If I may ask, Edmund," Philip said. (For he always called Edmund without his title when they were alone) "Why were you so desperate to flee your siblings?"

Edmund grimaced. "Party business."

"Ah," Philip said, knowingly. "But they only wishes to make you happy,"

"I know, I know," said Edmund. "But they're driving me up the wall, Philip!"

"Perhaps if you were to just…humor them?" suggested Philip. "Perhaps then it would not be so bad. And, at any rate, it won't last long."

"You're right," said Edmund. "As always. But in the mean time, I don't suppose we could take the long route back from the Apothecary's?"

"Ah, but then, my good King, dear Madam Mella would be kept waiting. She needs her supplements."

"I hate Horse Sense sometimes, you know that?"

Philip just laughed.

* * *

Abigaila Treehopper, Apothecary, had lived in her hollowed out tree since before the fall of the Witch. She had no love for the sorceress – being a sensible Monkey of science – or any of the creatures that took her side in the war. There was good, and there was evil. There was light, and there was dark. There was right, and there was wrong.

And there, riding up on a Horse – the _nerve_ of it, to ride a talking beast during the times of peace – was the King Edmund.

For Apothecary Treehopper was a Monkey of strong beliefs, and she was of the belief that once a being turned to the darkness, they never did return to the light. Once a traitor in Narnia, always a traitor in Narnia. And she wasn't the only one who thought so.

Her tail curled around the bottle sitting behind her on a bench. They'd been waiting for the grand party being thrown for the so-called king, but perhaps…perhaps this was a sign. A sign from the Great Lion himself. Now. Better to strike sooner than later, then to have one's procrastination come back to haunt you.

"Good morn, Madam Apothecary," Edmund called through her window that she dealt with customers through. "I come on errand from Good Cat Mella. She sends for her supplements?"

"Ah, yes," Apothecary Treehopper answered. "I'll be just a moment,"

She carefully dipped the end of the tiny arrow into her bottle. The arrow was so small; it was only the size of a fly. But it would do. Oh, yes. It would do wonderfully. Then, Abigaila went to her shelf and pulled down the small bag of vitamins for the Cat. Perhaps some Narnians – like Mella Cat or Philip Horse, who was talking with it– had been fooled. But not she. And certainly not her friends.

"Here we are." Apothecary Treehopper set the bag on the windowsill. She kept the arrow, snug in her tail, hidden from sight.

The youngest King – just a boy-child, really – pulled a small leather bag from its belt. "How much do I owe you, good Apothecary?"

She forced herself to smile at it. Her tail curled tighter around the dart. "Really, the pleasure is mine,"

"Oh," It appeared startled. "Are you positive?"

"Most certainly," said Apothecary Treehopper. "Consider it…a birthday present."

"Then, both Madam Mella and I thank you," said Edmund. It bowed slightly, and she inclined her head in return. It walked away, the Horse following.

Abagaila Treehopper, Apothecary, saw her chance. Her tail whipped forward, and her small weapon flew through the air. It slapped the back of its neck, looking startled.

"Are you all right, King Edmund?" Philip Horse asked.

"Yes," It answered. "Just…just a bug bite, I suppose."

Apothecary Treehopper waited until they were out of sight before closing her window. She exited her home and made for the river. The others would have to be alerted of the developments in their plan. For the Free Narnians had made the first move.

Now, all the rebels had to do was wait.

* * *

So there's the prologue. Good? Bad? Crap? Let me know. C'mon, I can take it!


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** King's Bane  
**Summery:** Its Edmund's 13th Birthday. But all's not well, what with a rebellion rising in Narnia and the White Witch appearing everywhere he looks…set in the Golden Age  
**Author:** Ultra-Geek  
**Disclaimer:** I'd like to point out that my computer is a Windows 95. Trust me, I'm not getting any money off of this. And, just to be safe, I own nothing 'cept my old computer.  
**Rating:** T  
**AN –** Oh, you like it! You really, really like it! (coughs) Sorry. I have random bouts of lameness. The doctors say that there's nothing they can do. Ah, well. Thanks to everyone who reviewed! You're all amazing, really. So here's chapter two, where there's…well, you'll see.

* * *

_"The...thing about dreams is that fleeting moment, when you are between asleep and awake, when you don't know the difference between reality and fantasy, when for just that one moment you feel with your entire soul that the dream is reality, and it really happened."_

* * *

The dignitaries were arriving today.

Edmund had convinced Philip to take the long way back to the palace. As a result, when they returned to the castle, night was about to fall. Susan had a pile of things that she needed Edmund's opinion on for the party. So by the time he'd stumbled into bed, it had been quite late in the evening. As he washed his face, his hand had ghosted past the point where the bug had bitten him. It had swelled up slightly and looked very much like a mosquito bite. Then, to top it all off, he'd awoken with a throbbing headache.

But that was all null and void, because the dignitaries were arriving today.

Susan had escaped the throne room with an airy; "I must finish preparing your party, Ed. _Really_. You'd think you didn't want this or something."

Edmund didn't bother responding that he actually didn't want the party. He knew it would probably go unheard at any rate. Peter had stood and patted his shoulder. "I would stay, Edmund, you know that. It's just that I have all of your duties to attend to, along with mine."

"You're speaking of the duties you stole from me?" Edmund had demanded.

Peter raised an eyebrow and breezed out of the room. "Naturally."

Edmund hadn't bothered to respond to him again either. Instead he looked over at Lucy. She was fidgeting in her throne and looking at him pleadingly. She had opened her mouth – most likely with a similar excuse to that of her siblings.

Edmund hadn't even bothered. "Just go!" he'd said with a wave of his arm.

To her credit, Lucy had stopped before she left to say, "Oh, Edmund. I know how you get with the nobles. Do _try_ and behave. Please?"

He just waved his arm again and she ran from the room calling for Susan. Because all of the Pevensies had one thing in common and that was a general distaste for dealing with the dignitaries. And since all of them were coming for Edmund, he'd naturally lost the draw for escaping.

None of that mattered now, of course, because the dignitaries were still arriving today.

And that meant Edmund had to be gracious, and noble, and kindly yet commanding, and all manners of things one doesn't wish to do when one has a pounding headache. Really, all the dark-haired boy wanted to do was curl back up with the curtains drawn and the covers pulled over his head. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to not talk to anyone except for incomprehensible grunts so they knew he wasn't dead, and he wanted to not deal with stuffy Lords and irksome Ladies all trying to buy their way to his good side with their shiny trinkets and fancy words and mannerisms. But, as Edmund well knew, being King meant that he very rarely got what he wanted in things like this.

And besides, the dignitaries were arriving today, so he obviously wasn't going to get what he wanted.

It was going to be a grand gathering of people Edmund generally disliked (which is why they were trying to purchase his favor) coming to celebrate at a party he'd rather avoid the next night, and he had to pretend not to feel like his head had been mashed with cotton while he'd been sleeping. Not to mention, naturally, that all of this preamble was taking place in the morning.

All in all, Edmund was not a very happy person.

"Announcing Lord Merado of Lantern Waste, and his family."

A barrel chested man paraded into the throne room, very nearly stepping on Sir Giles' bushy tail. The Fox was quick enough to evade the injury; but Lord Merado simply gave him a dirty look before continuing forward. An excessively large woman followed him. She was tugging a small girl by the elbow. The three stopped at the foot of the thrones. The Lord sunk into a bow and the Lady a curtsey. Their daughter, who was at least two years younger than Lucy was when she'd stumbled through the wardrobe, gawked at the glass ceilings in awe. The Lady Merado cleared her throat, and the girl sunk into an awkward curtsey.

Edmund hid a smile. "Rise, Lord and Ladies,"

"Greetings, King Edmund the Just, and we wish you the most happily of birthdays on this, the day before," said Lord Merado. "I wish to make known my wife, the Lady Serine, and my daughter, Keladry."

"Lady Serine, Lady Keladry," Edmund said. The girl flushed at being called 'Lady'. Edmund hadn't missed the way her father didn't use the title when introducing her. "And of course, Lord Merado. Welcome to Cair Paravel. I trust that your stay here will be comfortable."

Serine's eyes, while Edmund spoke, had swept across the three empty thrones. "If it is not to bold, your Majesty, where are your most royal siblings?"

"They are attending to their most royal business," said Edmund. "Now, if you would follow Cal, he will take you to your quarters."

One of the valets, Cal the satyr, bowed.

Keladry continued to stare at the throne room's decadence and failed to notice her parents leaving. "Lady Keladry?" he whispered.

She snapped her gaze to Edmund. Her mouth fell open slightly. He jerked his head to where the Lantern Waste's nobles were walking away. She smiled shyly, almost toppled over while curtseying, and ran after them.

* * *

"You did _what_, Abagaila?"

"He came to my shop." the Monkey said. "I took my shot, and it worked, sir."

The leader of the Free Narnians snorted in anger. "Oh this is just dreadful! Do you have any idea – any at all – how much you risked?"

Apothecary Treehopper stood straight. "Begging your pardon, but I think that it was for the best, sir. The party would have been much to public, yes? Now, the King's Bane will begin to take affect sometime tonight, and by the time of the party, it will have started to reach its full potential." said Abagaila. "And in one, possibly two weeks time…" she trailed off with a shrug.

She could see it in his eyes. She'd managed to convince him, at least somewhat. "Yes," said he. "But still, Abagaila, you took a dreadful risk. Absolutely dreadful."

"I'm aware of that, sir."

"And you are sure that it will begin when you say it does?"

"Yes, sir. The texts don't lie, sir," said Apothecary Treehopper. "All of them are in agreement of the time it takes for the King's Bane toxin to work its way after piercing the skin."

"Good," he answered. Then after a moment, "What are the chances that he survives it?"

She thought for a moment. "I won't lie, sir. There is always a chance. But there was only one recorded instance in the history of Narnia, sir, which someone survived. And even then, it was said that they stayed in a state of madness for the remainder of their lives, which wasn't very long. Killed himself within the year, sir. But isn't it worth it to be out from the last remnants of the Witch's regime's thumb, sir?"

Neither spoke for several moments. "You should return to your tree, Abigaila. At this time of day, you're loosing good business. I shall send for you if you're needed."

She bowed. "Yes, sir."

* * *

"Announcing, the Tarkheena Layla, and her escort Alder."

Edmund felt his headache worsen slightly. If there was anything worse than Archenland dignitaries or Narnian dignitaries, it was _Calormen_ dignitaries. Luckily, as the Calormen Empire despised Narnia, they didn't get many of them. But every now and again, the dignitaries would appear. This particular Tarkheena was heavily veiled. Her robes were dark and covered even the tips of her toes.

As they bowed and curtsied, Edmund found himself wondering how she managed to do that without tripping over the hem.

"Good King," Alder said. He pulled a scroll, and staying bowed, offered it to Edmund.

"Thank you," Edmund said, taking it and breaking the seal. He scanned the contents quickly. With each sentence, his mouth fell open slightly more. Sir Giles was eyeing the Calormens suspiciously while watching Edmund's reactions. "The Tarkaan wants me to accept _what_?" He sputtered.

Alder, obviously thinking that Edmund suffered from being Narnian and thus stupidity, spoke slowly in his answers with many gestures. "The most noble Tarkaan wishes that you accept his gift of his niece in memorial for the day of your most royal birth."

And just like that, Edmund's headache grew much, much worse.

* * *

"Oh, Philip. I can't thank you enough for helping me with this," Lucy said.

"Not at all, you Majesty," answered Philip. Of all his rulers, Edmund excluded, Philip found himself most drawn towards the youngest. Maybe it was because of her warm and welcoming demeanor. Perhaps the nose she shared with his Edmund caused it. But really, when Philip really stopped and contemplated the subject, it was because Queen Lucy gave him those wonderful lumps of sugar the cook was always denying him. Cook was always going on about how they were bad for Horses, but Philip adored them. And so Queen Lucy won him over through the oldest trick in the book – his stomach.

"I had so much trouble, you know, trying to decide what to get him," she continued. "After all, he is a king, so he has most everything he wants. And Edmund is quite hard to please."

Philip neglected to point out that if she were the one to give it to him, Edmund would keep an old piece of string until either it or he decayed. Instead, he said, "I had a similar dilemma, Queen Lucy,"

In the end, Philip had decided on a new pair of riding boots. After all, he'd seen Edmund's, and even he, who wore shoes of iron, grimaced at the sight of the nasty things. Now, he helped the Queen with her gift by carrying it back to Cair Paravel for her. It was tied to his back, and Lucy walked along side of him. Every now and again they would catch sight of one of her Guard sneaking along beside them, making sure of Queen Lucy's safety. "Do you think he'll like it?" asked Lucy.

Thinking of the Queen's gift, Philip smirked as best a Horse can. "Your Majesty," he answered. "I think that he will adore it."

* * *

"How goes it, Edmund?" Peter asked as he entered the throne room. He'd waited until the stream of dignitaries had thinned to one or two stragglers before entering. Edmund was slumped in his throne, eyes closed, and an arm tossed over his eyes. "Good takings?"

Edmund opened one eye and glared at his brother. "Sir Giles?" He called.

"Yes, your Majesty?"

"High King Peter wants to know how we're doing so far," said Edmund. "Tell him, how many silver cups that will be tarnished within the week have we recieved?"

"Eight, your Majesty,"

"Golden tableware that would scratch at the first use?"

"Nine sets," Giles said. Peter could hear him smiling.

"What else?"

"Several pieces of broken glass that could be easily mistaken for jewels, if one is half-blind. However, I feel I must point out that Lord Haddix _does_ only have one eye. Let's see," The Fox appeared from behind the mound of gifts. "Several arrows, a dagger crafted by dwarves, a Tarkheena, several volumes of books, a golden chess set – "

"Hang on," Peter said. "What was that one? Before the books?"

Sir Giles was outright grinning now. "The Tarkheena?"

Peter gaped at Edmund. "You were given a _girl_ for your thirteenth birthday?"

"Oh, Lion's Mane, Peter, stop fussing," Edmund said wearily. "I sent her back."

"He practically drop-kicked them out of the Cair, actually, High King Peter," Sir Giles said. "It was most entertaining."

Peter eyed his younger brother. "You look positively exhausted, Ed," he commented.

"I have a horrid headache, and those people aren't helping much," Edmund answered.

"Why I don't take over. You get some rest,"

"Gladly," said Edmund, and all but fled from the room.

The High King sat in his thrown with a _thump_. "No one sent _me_ a girl for any of _my_ birthdays," he muttered, then looked at Giles. "Who sends people for birthday presents?"

"Calormens, apparently,"

"Apparently," sighed Peter. "All right, then, Giles. Announce the next one…"

* * *

That night, after Lucy had come back to castle with a package she tried to hide, ("Go away, Edmund, and don't come out until I tell you that you can!"), after Susan had worked herself into exhaustion with the preparations for the following evening, Peter had finally ran through the rest of the dignitaries.

Edmund's headache, however, had simply grown worse. He fell into bed nearly an hour earlier than usual, but couldn't sleep. No matter what position he rolled into, he couldn't get comfortable. Finally, with a frustrated sigh, he slid his feet into his boots and began to roam the castle. He ended up, on one of the high tower balconies, looking out across at the Eastern Sea. He had a balcony in his own room, true, but it faced the Western Woods. The breeze blew in his face gently, and he watched as out on the horizon several Merpeople delighted in the light of the full moon.

The landscape was painted silver by the light of the stars and the moon, making things almost eerily light. Every object cast long shadows across the earth. Edmund closed his eyes and leaned against the rail for a moment.

Without warning, the wind turned icy. Edmund's eyes flew open to see that his shadow had been joined by another. This one was taller, thinner, and wore a spiking, towering headpiece. Edmund whirled around. He backed up until his back hit the rail. "No," He whispered. "You're dead.

The Witch smiled. "That's what they said about the Lion, isn't it?" She placed her hand on his chest and shoved forward. _Hard_. Edmund tumbled off of the balcony, rushing towards the ground, the wind blowing through his ears, and…

…And he sat up in bed with a gasp. His hands were knotted in the sheet with a grip that turned his knuckles white. He gasped and shakily ran his hands through his hair. He hadn't had a nightmare that felt _that_ real in nearly a year. And all the ones that did were more memories than that. Edmund shivered, even though the room was almost to warm. He could still feel where she'd shoved him from the balcony. He brought one of his hands up, and stopped.

His skin on his chest, in the exact place where she'd pushed, was icy cold.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** King's Bane  
**Summery:** Its Edmund's 13th Birthday. But all's not well, what with a rebellion rising in Narnia and the White Witch appearing everywhere he looks…set in the Golden Age  
**Author:** Ultra-Geek  
**Disclaimer:** I get no profit off of any of this (except for a warm and fuzzy feeling inside) because I own nothing.  
**Rating:** T  
**AN –** Okay, I want to start this off with a huge apology to elecktrum. I called the Fox in the last chapter Sir Giles, because I couldn't remember if he'd been given a name in the movie or not. And in a couple of other stories – including elecktrum's – he was called Sir Giles. So I just went ahead and assumed that it was a canon name. Yeah, boys and girls? I'm here to tell you that assumptions are not good thing to make. Cookies are good to make, and so is fudge, but not assumptions. Or piñatas named Buster (long story). So the name of Sir Giles belongs to elecktrum, and again. I apologize.

Oh, yes. This is going to be the last chapter up for about a week, week and a half because I'm going to stay with my aunt, and I don't really plan on writing FanFiction throughout that time. I'm just saying this so that no one thinks I've abandoned the story or anything. I will finish this.

A couple people have asked this about King's Bane: Can the Free Narnians control it, or is it all up to our dear Edmund? Well, I guess you'll just have to wait and see! (Laughs darkly in the corner while people in the room edge away slowly).

So, is this obnoxiously long Author's Note done? Will this chapter be worth reading? Is Edmund going Coo-Coo for Cocoa Puffs? Is anyone going to review? Will I ever stop asking rhetorical questions? The answers, friends, are yes, hopefully, no comment, PLEASE DO, and no probably not.

* * *

_"Nothing could be madder, more irresponsible, more dangerous than this guidance of men by dreams." – George Santayana_

* * *

Edmund stared ahead. Nearly an hour had passed since he'd woken from his nightmare. A wind blew past his window, ruffling the curtain. He idly rubbed his chest; though, it had long since lost the icy cold temperature and returned to normal. Edmund was debating with himself: should he wake someone? Maybe it was only a coincidence. Perhaps, somehow, he'd managed to freeze his torso and that was what had triggered the dream?

But what if it wasn't that and She wasn't actually gone?

Edmund growled quietly to himself and stood, pacing the length of his room. He shook his head – which succeeded in only worsening his headache – and kneaded his hands together. He continued to pace. Back, and forth, and back, and forth, back, and forth, back, forth, back, forth, back, forth, back, forth, back forth back forth back forth backforthbackforthbackforth…

He stopped as he realized he'd begun to almost run from side to side of his chamber. He sat in a chair, one leg bouncing up and down and up and down again…was that Susan's horn? It sounded like…oh, no. Susan!

Edmund ran from his room and down the hall, towards the source of the bugle call. He didn't stop to grab any weapons, his only thought was to get to his sister. She was in trouble. What if it was the Witch? What if because he'd been to worried of being accused of being girlie the Witch _had_ actually been working her magic and was now after Susan? What if she'd been hurt just because he'd been to stupid not to say something?

It wasn't even coming from her room in the castle, which faced the Eastern Sea. The horn call came from the throne room. As Edmund hurtled through the castle, he began to notice that there was no one else there. No centaurs, guards or owls. No dignitaries hoping for a late night snack. Nothing. Just Edmund sprinting towards his sister's call and his own thudding heart.

He skidded to a stop in front of the door leading in. He froze, and unmentionable icy fear clawing its way up his stomach and through his throat. His blood pounded in his ears, and he braced himself before pushing the door open.

They were all dead.

Oreius and Giles, Philip and Mella the cat, the Lantern Waste Lords and their daughter. All of them lay heaped in a pile, half turned to stone and half bleeding freely with their throats ripped out. It was deadly silent. Edmund gasped and turned away, but he had to find Susan. He had to find Lucy and Peter. If they were still living, then he could…he could figure something out.

"You see what you've done," The voice called. He stopped midst a step and all of his muscles tensed up and his stomach dropped through his toes and down past the floor in an icy swoop. "This is what happens when little boys do an adult's job."

He turned half of the way around. "You did this." hissed Edmund.

"I have done nothing, boy." Jadis said. "Their blood? It's on _your_ hands."

Edmund looked down. He raised his fingers in shock. "No…" he whispered. They were coated with blood, red and shining in the pale light. Edmund's breath came in short bursts.

He screamed out.

Someone was shaking him, calling out. "Ed? Edmund, come now. Wake up, its just a dream. Edmund! _Edmund_!"

He shot up. It was just barely morning. There was a figure standing next to his bed, looking very startled at his abrupt awakening. "P-Peter?" he gasped. He must've fallen asleep again after the first nightmare. Then again, maybe he'd never actually awoken between the two and it had all just been one continuous dream.

"It's okay, Ed. It was just a dream." Peter said softly. "It wasn't real. You're all right."

"B-but…"

Peter sat down next to him. Edmund wondered oddly how many times they'd been in this position. Peter glanced down then back up at Edmund. "Ed, your _hands_," said the blonde, grabbing one and turning it over so that his palm faced up.

Edmund looked down. His palms were red, sticky. _Blood_. "I-I…" He swallowed thickly. The words from his dream – Her words – echoed through his mind. He could feel the bile rising up in his throat. But he hadn't killed anyone. Peter was right here, proof of that, right? He looked up at his older brother for any kind of reassurance.

Peter was examining his right palm closely, using the edge of his sleeve to wipe away the excess blood. Both of the boys stared down at the small crescents dug into Edmund's hands. "That must've been some nightmare," murmured Peter. Edmund had clenched his fists so hard while he slept that his fingernails had broken through the skin. "Let's get you cleaned up,"

Peter draped an arm around Edmund's shoulders and guided him out of the room. Edmund could feel himself shivering and shaking, and he hated it. He was thirteen, after all. Nighttime phantoms shouldn't bother him like this anymore. Peter spoke. "Do you want to talk about – "

"No." interrupted Edmund.

"I'd wish you a happy birthday," commented Peter after a moment. "But this hardly seems like an appropriate time."

Edmund blinked for a moment. Birthday? Oh, right. It was his birthday. He'd managed to forget. And that meant being paraded around all day at the castle followed by being forced into that party. The poor boy's headache still persisted with a passion, and his stomach was clenching and unclenching. He glanced down at his hands.

What was wrong with him?

* * *

_Dearest friend,_

_I have made the observations of the so-called monarch that you wished for. Aching in his head troubles him. In accordance with what A.T. predicted, he woke the whole of the castle this morn with yells. The General Oreius believed there to be an attempt on the traitor's life and charged through the halls, and was only stopped by reassurances from the High King. We may have problems with him once it is done._

_Again, just for my peace of mind, I ask if the other monarchs will be harmed. I've grown rather fond of the Queen Susan, and the other two are good sorts._

_Yours,_

_The Silent Majority of Cair Paravel_

_--_

**My Friend,**

**As I've explained to you before, we have no quarrel with the High King or either of the Queens. We only wish to rid Narnia of the Queen's taint. They will not understand now, but given time, will realize that their brother is not a good force. Its just dreadful, isn't it, that everything must have happened like this? But stay true to our goal, friend, and we will be the heroes of Narnia. And remember, good friend, that without your help we would be fumbling blindly through the darkness.**

**Aslan's blessings upon you,**

**A Free Narnian**

**P.S. Enjoy the party tonight. I hear that it will be quite the gathering.**

"Does Edmund seem a bit…jumpy to you?" asked Lucy.

"Well, didn't you hear him yelling this morning?" Susan answered. "Peter said he was having nightmares. Poor Edmund, and on his birthday too!"

"Yes," Lucy said in agreement. "Do you remember when Beka practically destroyed his doorway because she thought that he was being murdered?"

Susan nodded. The Cheetah Chieftain had taken a shine to both Peter and Edmund within minutes of meeting them. After the coronation, Edmund had been subject to night terrors, waking up either by being shaken or by his own screaming. Of course, the first few nights both Beka and Oreius had made the mistake of thinking that someone was attempting to kill their king. Finally, Peter spent the better part of a month sleeping on a camp bed in his brother's room. What neither of the boys knew was that Beka had slept curled in front of the door while she and her warriors were at the castle.

"He hasn't had any especially horrid ones in a while, though," said the eldest Queen thoughtfully. "I wonder what triggered it."

Lucy frowned, troubled. Then she brightened. "We shall just have to make his birthday extra special, right, Susan?"

* * *

"King Edmund!"

Edmund jumped slightly and rubbed his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time that he felt this tired. One of the palace healers had wrapped both of his hands with bandages. Philip came up next to him. "Hello, Philip," muttered Edmund.

"Good morning!" the Horse said. He was in an unusually chipper mood; especially by Philip's standards. "Happy Birthday,"

"Says who?"

"I do," answered Philip. "Here, take this."

He angled his body so that where a bag hung around his neck was easily in Edmund's reach. The King pulled it up and over his head. "What's in here?"

"Your present," said Philip. "I wanted to give it to you before everything got all busy with your party."

"Philip, you didn't have to get me anything," said Edmund.

"No, but I wanted to. Now open it,"

Edmund sat down on the ground and worked on the haphazard knots. "You had Prock help you with this, didn't you?" Edmund said. Prock was an elderly faun who thought he was part Horse. He lived in an extra stall in the Cair's stables, taking care of the tack and making sure all of the steeds had plenty to eat and drink. But what Prock was most famous – or perhaps infamous was more fitting – was his knot tying ability. None of them could be undone without at least ten minutes hard work and concentration.

"…Maybe," Philip answered with a slightly mischievous snort.

After a while of prying, pulling, and finally pulling out a knife and hacking at the tethers, Edmund managed to open up the bag. He pulled out the boots. "Philip!" he said, looking up at the Horse.

Said Animal got suddenly sheepish. "I hope you like them," he said. "I knew yours were all but worn out,"

Edmund pulled off his shoes and tugged the boots on. "They fit perfectly," he said. The boy grinned tiredly up at his friend. "Thank you,"

"You're most welcome, your Majesty." Philip answered, all bashfulness banished by the acceptance of his gift. "However, I also have a message from your sister, Queen Susan. She wishes for your presence in the throne room."

Edmund sighed, and with some help from Philip, managed to get to his feet. "You know," he said to the Horse as they walked towards the castle. "I seem to pick the absolute worst times to fall ill."

* * *

"Oh, good, Edmund!" Susan said. Her brother had stumbled into the room. She forced her voice to be cheery, but he looked absolutely terrible. He was pale, and the dark circles under his eyes made his face seen sunken. Edmund really did have bad timing when it came to getting sick. The last time had been during an expedition to the Lone Islands, where they learned the hard way that the Lone Island peppers – the ones used in most of the dishes – did not exactly agree with his stomach. "I need your help,"

"If its about fabric or drapery, you just use what you think is best," groused Edmund.

"No, I need you to get rid of them," she said, pointing to the far side of the room. The dignitaries all stood in a group chattering and talking amongst themselves. "They won't let the others get ready for tonight without putting in their opinions about things! About everything!"

"Well, what do you want me to do? Get Lucy. She's good with people, even _those_ people."

"Lucy's busy getting your present ready!" Susan said. "She has to put it together,"

"Peter?"

"Helping Lucy," Susan sighed. "I'm really sorry, Edmund," she said.

He looked confused. "For what?"

"This," she hooked her arm through his and towed him across the room, smiling brightly at the visiting dignitaries. "Look who's finally here!" she called. "And it only took him until the afternoon!"

"You owe me," Edmund hissed.

'Thank you' she mouthed as he shook hands and accepted the happy birthdays. Slowly, so that the nobles didn't even quite realize it, he edged from the room and brought the group of them with him. Susan turned. "Cal! Start bringing in the tables! Marx, I want the draperies up and the centerpieces in here as soon as the tables are ready! Tani, garlands! And Luk, if I catch you 'testing the food for poison' again, you _will_ be banned from the feast!"

* * *

Edmund sighed and fidgeted in his fancy clothes. Lucy stood next to him, beaming. Peter and Susan were ahead of them, waiting to be announced. If he'd thought he was exhausted earlier, that was nothing compared to this very moment. Though nearly everyone he'd come into contact with had mentioned that he should have a bit of a lie-down, but Edmund was afraid to. He didn't want anymore nightmares. His plan for the night, actually, was to drink a bit more than was probably proper so by the time he slept, he'd have no dreams.

"We're going to give you our gifts after the party," Peter said over his shoulder. Lucy bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet. Susan glanced downwards.

"Oh, _Edmund_," Susan sighed in exasperation. He followed her gaze down to his new boots. Even he, in his muddled state of mind, knew that they didn't exactly match the rest of his ensemble. And if anyone were to ask him, he'd have protested that he really had no idea that they'd bother Susan.

"What?" he smiled innocently up at her. "They were a birthday present!"

Lucy giggled, Peter smiled, and Susan shook her head. The oldest Pevensie girl looked to be about to say something, but Sir Giles' voice called out, "His most royal Majesty, the High King Peter the Magnificent, and her most royal Majesty, Queen Susan the Gentle!" There was applause as Susan took Peter's arm and they walked down into the throne room.

"Well, _I_ think your boots are rather fetching," Lucy said. Edmund grinned down at her. She grew more serious. "Edmund, are you all right?"

Before he could answer, Giles was announcing them. "Her most royal Majesty, Queen Lucy the Valiant, and his most royal Majesty, and reason for this celebration, King Edmund the Just!"

"Here we go," Edmund muttered. Lucy giggled as they walked through and took their places on their thrones on the edges of their siblings. The crowd whooped and hollered.

"_Speech_!" Someone called out. Edmund strongly suspected Philip, who was now attempting to hide behind the punch bowl. Peter, Lucy, and Susan all looked down at him.

Edmund sighed, and stood up. There was a chorus of loud shushing noises. He waited until the room was quiet. "Well," he said, and stopped. The room was spinning. He was finding it hard to tell what was the glass flooring and what was the granite roof. Or was it the other way around. He heard, or felt, a cold laugh. His eyes landed on a figure standing in the back of the room.

The Witch stared back.

"Ed?" Peter's voice sounded like it was coming from the end of a long tunnel that was very far away.

Edmund's knees gave out. He felt someone catch him, and there was gasping and shrieks from all around. "Get a healer!" Peter was yelling. Edmund's head thundered. He looked around. Where'd She go? His eyes landed on Peter's. So that's who had caught him. "Edmund, can you hear me? Edmund?"

He tried to tell him about the Witch, that She was here and they had to do something, but there was this pesky darkness coming in from all sides. It made his tongue turn to lead and rendered the rest of his body useless. The last thing he saw was Peter's blue eyes. His brother was saying something; he could see his mouth moving. All he could hear was his own heartbeat. He could feel it slowing down, little…by…little…

And then all Edmund knew was an inky, frigid nothing.

* * *

…And on that note, I'll see you in about a week!


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** King's Bane  
**Summery:** Its Edmund's 13th Birthday. But all's not well, what with a rebellion rising in Narnia and the White Witch appearing everywhere he looks…set in the Golden Age  
**Author:** Ultra-Geek  
**Disclaimer:** I, Ultra-Geek, hereby do not own anything.  
**Rating:** T  
**AN –** So, it was a little longer than a week. Whatever. Enjoy.

Written while listening to the Prince Caspian Soundtrack, and in between planning schemes to go and see that movie again. I got to say, Edmund's a badass. My favorite one on the soundtrack though, is a toss up between 'Miraz Crowned' and 'Prince Caspian Flees'.

* * *

_"We are here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is." – Mark Vonnegut_

* * *

"Speech!"

Peter chuckled under his breath. Aslan bless talking Horses and their senses of humor, he thought silently to himself. He first looked over at Susan and Lucy, who were smiling with the same more than slightly gleeful smiles. Then the High King looked over at Edmund.

He did not look good. As Edmund got to his feet, he stumbled slightly. Peter heard Susan mutter under her breath about how that probably wouldn't have happened if he hadn't worn those leather boots, and _really_ was it so much for her to ask to have him wear his nice ones just this once?

Edmund cleared his throat. The throne room was filled with the muffled shushes of the partygoers. "Well," Edmund began, but stopped. Peter frowned and leaned forward in his seat slightly.

"Ed?" he called. If Edmund heard him, he gave no indication of it. Something was not right. Actually, something was very, very wrong. And then, for several moments, time seemed to slow.

Edmund's legs crumpled and he started to fall.

Peter vaulted himself from his throne. He couldn't have moved faster if there'd been a miniature catapult that had propelled him forward. The eldest King managed to catch Edmund just before he hit the floor. Everything moved in slow motion, echoing and proceeding as if through molasses.

Oreius and his centaurs moved around them as they built a living wall between the monarchs and the rest of the beings in the hall. Peter could hear the snarls of Chieftain Beka and her cheetahs from just beyond it as if daring anyone to come near.

"Someone get a Healer!" he yelled.

"The Satyr Cal has gone to fetch her, Majesty," said one of the centaurs, but Peter didn't hear him.

"Edmund?" he said. His brother's glassy dark eyes had been darting around, but now he was just blinking up at Peter. "Can you hear me? Edmund?"

Susan stood over them while Lucy and a centaur guard ran from the room. Edmund's mouth opened slightly. His hand tightened on Peter's arm. He was trying to say something. "What? Edmund, c'mon now, what is it? What's wrong?" Peter said. His brother's breathing grew suddenly ragged; his eyes rolled backwards into his head. "Edmund? _Edmund_!"

"Out of my way, _out of my way!_" a voice rose above the din as Cal the satyr helped an elderly old dwarf through the bristling cheetahs and centaurs. She whacked one unfortunate centaur that didn't mover quite fast enough to her liking with a knarled walking stick. "I said _move it,_ sonny boy. We've got a King to save!"

"Sorry," Cal muttered. The centaur snorted and closed the gap in their blockade. "Well, Highest Majesty, care to lay your brother down so I can examine him properly?"

"Perhaps a different location?" Susan suggested. She knelt on the floor and, with Peter, lowered Edmund's head into her lap. Her lovely skirts made of lace and silk wrinkled and rumpled as she sat there. "One less public?"

"In a moment, Majesty. It wouldn't do much good if we killed him moving him, would it?"

With shaking fingers Susan smoothed the bangs away from Edmund's forehead. She looked up at Peter just as he looked at her. His eyes were wide, and he was sweating slightly. His golden crown sat crooked upon his brow. At that moment, he looked more the lost little boy than High King; Peter was searching her face for any sign of reassurance. Susan was almost positive her own expression mimicked something like his.

"Well, seems to not be any blood. I think we should take my Queen's suggestion and get him out of this entire ruckus. Can't be doing much good, now can it? High King Peter," the dwarf tapped his shoulder with the head of her walking stick. "You're a strong lad. Carry your brother to his chambers, yes?"

Peter nodded, swallowing thickly. He gathered Edmund up in his arms. Edmund's silver crown slid from his forehead and hit the floor. Susan grabbed it before rising again. Three of the guards moved from the line to follow, including Oreius. In the space created, various dignitaries and the citizens of Narnia tried to peer through. Beka snarled, and many who weren't used to being in the company of talking Animals jumped backwards. Susan touched Cal on the shoulder lightly. "My sister has gone to fetch her cordial from her quarters," she murmured. "Please make sure she brings it straight to King Edmund's, yes?"

"Yes, Queen Susan," said the satyr with a bow.

"Mind his head now, Majesty," the dwarf said. Peter nodded, and they walked out of one of the throne room's side doors and out. "I'll be along. These old legs don't go as fast as they used to, you know. Get him into bed."

Peter walked quickly, but at the same time as smoothly as he could. Susan had taken the old dwarf woman by the elbow and was leading her down the corridor.

* * *

It comes in flashes. Flashes of sight. Flashes of sound. A touch. A yell. Disoriented and disconnected flashes that he tries to interpret, but just as quickly as they appear they're gone again.

_Flash_.

He's lying on cold stone. His head's been propped up against someone's lap. There are footsteps running, people yelling. Panic.

_Flash_.

He's being lifted from the floor. "Mind his head, now, Majesty," A crackling voice is saying.

_Flash_.

Muffled voices. He's freezing, he feels so cold. There's a wonderfully warm hand on his forehead suddenly. "Your Majesty? If you could just step outside for a moment so I can take a look at your brother…?" The hand is taken away.

_Darkness._

* * *

Susan leaned against the wall outside of Edmund's room while the Healer dwarf – whose name, they later learned, was Ritnik – was examining his brother. Peter was pacing back and forth. Every now and again, he'd stop, glare at the slightly ajar door menacingly, crack his knuckles, and resume his pacing. Guards were posted on either entrance to the corridor. Susan rubbed the bridge of her nose. Then, she glanced down at the youngest monarch.

Lucy was sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at the cordial's bottle in her hand. She was shaking. Lucy looked up at Susan. "I…I don't understand," she whispered. Her cheeks were wet with tears and new ones were threatening to spill out. She glanced away from her older sister's eyes and back at the cordial. "Why didn't it work? It _always_ works."

Lucy had come tearing into the room with her cordial. Edmund had yet to awake. She'd put a drop of the potion into her brother's mouth, and the three siblings and Ritnik had waited in a tense silence for a reaction. Maybe for Ed to wake up, or cough, even to sit up and say, 'you see, Susan? This is what happens when you try to throw me a birthday party'. But nothing happened.

Nothing had happened at_ all_.

Susan still couldn't quite get her mind around it. Like Lucy said, the cordial always worked. "Maybe its because he's not wounded," she pondered aloud. She was aware of Peter listening to them as he strode back and forth. "I mean, its not like we've tried to use it because someone was sick, right? Perhaps it only works on injuries."

Lucy bit her lip. Peter paused in his pacing, glared, and cracked his knuckles. Susan sighed. She wondered if she could survive this without loosing her mind. The door was pushed open and Ritnik came out. The siblings looked at the dwarf, and Lucy pushed herself to her feet. The Healer's wrinkled face was grim. "Your majesties?" she asked. "Does King Edmund have anyone who would wish him ill?"

"What?" Peter said. "Why?"

Ritnik pursed her lips. "Come with me." She led them back into the room where Edmund lay on his side. In nightclothes he seemed even paler than before, and he was shaking ever so slightly. "There,"

"What is that?" Lucy gasped.

On the back of Edmund's neck, where his longer hair normally covered, was a large red bump. There were little black lines spiderwebbing from the center of it, stretching down towards his back and up towards the crown of his head. Susan could all but hear Peter grinding his teeth together. "My good dwarf," Susan said softly. "Why were you wondering if my brother has any enemies? Do you believe it important to his health?"

"Yes, Queen Susan." Ritnik said. "I've only seen it once before, understand." she shifted on her walking stick slightly. Lucy pulled a stool over from the corner for her to sit on. The dwarf nodded in thanks. "Those black lines there? That's a sure-fire sign that one of the Darks have been used."

"What are the Darks?" Susan asked. She was positive that Peter was in no condition to be communicating with anyone. In fact, he was staring at his brother as if by will alone he could make him better, leaning on the wood at the foot of his bed. Lucy still appeared to be in shock over her cordial not working.

"A series of …well, poisons, Majesty. All of them were made prohibited near two hundred years ago." Ritnik said. Peter's grip on the footboard tightened, turning his knuckles white as he looked over at the Healer. Lucy let out a small gasp. Susan blinked back at a sudden stinging in her eyes. "There are five Darks, as they're called: Lyviathan, Dark Moon, King's Bane, Dyonox, and Deathroot. From all of the texts I've read, there's only one tell tale sign that one's been used, and that's those black lines there."

"You said they'd been banned." Peter said softly. "But you've seen it once before?"

"Its my experience, High King, that the more illegal something is, the more people seem to want it." Ritnik said.

"How do we stop it?" Susan whispered. Lucy was crying again, but all she felt was a calm fury she'd never known before. Someone had attempted to assassinate her little brother.

"I don't know," said Ritnik. "I wish I could tell you, but I honestly would probably end up making a muddle of things. All I know is that it isn't Deathroot."

"How so?"

She looked up at Peter, her face serious, and the torchlight sending her deep wrinkles dancing. "He would all ready be dead, Majesty." A silence fell over the room. Susan reached over and squeezed Edmund's hand. Ritnik cleared her throat. "I can, however, suggest you send for the Apothecary Treehopper and the Healer Rannoch Deer. Also, Brynn the Oak dryad and Leon, a faun. The four of them are the best when it comes to poisons, and all are within an hour's ride of here."

Peter nodded, but didn't move from his place. Susan took it upon herself, and relayed the message to the guards, who in turn assured her it would be done. She looked down at her brother. Oh, Edmund, she thought, why must it always be you?

* * *

Edmund awoke with a start, sitting up in his bed. He squinted in the light coming in from the window, and looked around. He was alone in the room. Hold up, he thought. How did I end up here? The last thing he remembered was standing at the party, and he was going to have to make a speech, and then he saw the Witch, and…

Oh, Aslan, he thought. I fainted. I'll never hear the end of it.

But the Witch! He had to find someone, tell them he'd seen Her. Chances were that somebody else had to have seen Her, and everyone all ready knew, but there was the off chance that he was the only one. He stood, and had to catch himself on the edge of his bed. His legs were shaking.

"You can't even walk on your own, now, can you?" Edmund flew to his feet, and leaned on the stool that was near his bed. She was staring at him, or at least, Her reflection was. According to the mirror, She was just behind him, near the door. But Edmund couldn't move to check. Her eyes held him rooted to the spot.

"How are you here?" he asked, ignoring how ragged his voice sounded. No longer did he have just a roaring headache, but with every pump of his heart a dull pain thudded through his body. It was like he'd been training much to long, in heavy, heavy armor in extreme heat. Except for he was so cold.

"I missed you, my little traitor," She smiled coldly. "I just couldn't stay away. But I need you for something."

"Why would I help you?" he managed to gasp out.

"Because," She said. "We both know you haven't changed. Deep down, you're still that rotten little boy I met in the woods all that time ago. But enough of this! You must come to my house,"

"No."

"What a rebel you've become since I've been away!" the Witch laughed, her head thrown back. "You do remember where my house is, don't you? Come there. I'll be waiting."

Edmund's eyes flew open. "Ed?" Peter was looking down at him.

"P-P-P-Peter?" Edmund stuttered. He was shivering. The last time he'd been this cold had been in Her dungeons.

"Hang on, I'm getting the Healer." Peter said. Edmund gasped out, and managed to grab a hold of his brother's wrist in an iron grip.

"W-Wait," he said. He could feel his eyes starting to close again, his grip to loosen. He was going to pass out again, and Edmund thought that he could maybe deal with that, but Peter had to know about the Witch.

"What? Edmund, what is it?"

"Th-th-the…the," That darkness that had grabbed him at the party was back. But he needed to tell Peter _now_.

"The what?" Peter sounded scared.

"Witch," he whispered. And judging from the harsh intake of breath his brother made, he'd gotten the message.

Edmund allowed himself to drift back into the fathoms deep dark.

* * *

"Sir," Apothecary Treehopper said. "I've received summons to Cair Paravel. It appears that 'King' Edmund has been poisoned by one of the Darks."

The statement hung in the air before the leader of the Free Narnians responded.

"I shall see you there, then, Abagaila," he said. "I, too, have been requested to come."

"Are we to travel together?"

"No, no. I will be along shortly, for I have some business to take care of first. Do you remember James and Carol, that delightful Rabbit couple?"

"Yes,"

"Their hole was flooded last night, and all of the little ones have caught colds. It's just dreadful! I promised I'd look at them briefly."

"Then I shall see you at Cair Paravel?"

"Yes, Abagaila. And do be careful, won't you?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** King's Bane  
**Summery:** It's Edmund's 13th Birthday. But all's not well, what with a rebellion rising in Narnia and the White Witch appearing everywhere he looks…set in the Golden Age  
**Author:** Ultra-Geek  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Zada. Zilch.  
**Rating:** T  
**AN –** Sorry for the delay in updating. Summer always just seems to get so busy! Anyway, I watched the first Narnia movie again the other day and there's this one part that's not even a second long that I've fallen in love with. It's when Mrs. Macready yells that 'there will be no touchin' of the historical artifacts', and it just shows Edmund and Peter glance at each other and start giggling.

* * *

"Three of the four have arrived," said Susan. "Prix? Would you tell them that Peter will be down shortly?"

The guard who'd followed her into Edmund's bed chambers nodded, glanced at the fallen King, and hurried from the room.

"What?" Peter looked up. "Susan, maybe I should stay here and…" he trailed off as she stared at him. Peter had yet to leave his little brother's side.

"Peter, they have traveled here without more than two moments' notice." Susan said. "We all need to greet them, at the very least."

"But someone could come and – "

"And that's why I've all ready said my part to them." Susan said. She felt a surge of anger rush through her chest. She wanted to lash out and hit something, or yell, or _anything_! "Did you honestly think that I'd leave Edmund up here alone, Peter? That I would even consider it?"

"I just – "

"You are not the only one scared for Edmund." The eldest Queen said. "But you can't – we can't – help him if we sit and do nothing. The one's who can are down in the library, right now. They're going to start conducting interviews with everyone who may've noticed anything. That includes you. At the moment, I believe that they're talking to Lucy, and then they'll speak with you. Then you may come back here and not leave for a while, all right?"

"But, Susan," Peter said. He looked helplessly over at Edmund. "What if someone tries to hurt him while I'm gone and I know you're here, it's just…"

"Peter, I would almost like to see someone try." Susan said. "I suppose you wouldn't know, but there's practically an army outside this doorway. Oreius and his centaurs, Philip, Beka and her cheetahs, several flocks of Birds, a colony of Bats. If anyone did try to get at Edmund, they wouldn't get very far in it. Now go, for the sooner you leave the sooner you can return here. I know you want to protect Ed, but right now the best way to do that is to talk to the Healers."

Peter nodded, and swallowed thickly. He stood, and Susan laid a hand on his shoulder. "Susan," he said quietly. "Edmund woke for a moment earlier."

"What?" said Susan. "Why didn't you mention this before?"

"I don't know, but listen," continued Peter. "He…he said something. Just before he passed out again. I may've heard wrong, mind you, but…"

"Peter, what is it?"

"I think he said something about the Witch," the High King's voice had fallen to a near whisper. "You…you don't think that She had anything to do with this, do you?"

"The Witch is dead," said Susan sharply. Edmund shivered slightly behind them. The older Pevensies fell silent for a moment, but their brother made no more movements. Susan lowered her voice. "Aslan killed her. It may be that one of her supporters poisoned Edmund; in fact, it's very possible."

Peter nodded. "I suppose so," he said.

"Go on, now," Susan said with a smile. "I'll be here when you return."

* * *

Peter entered the library just in time to hear Lucy recount how the cordial didn't work. She was sitting on a wooden chair with her back to the flames. There were three others sitting and standing in a semi-circle facing her. One was a faun with reddish hair and fur, sitting in a wooden chair and writing down what appeared to be a record of everything Lucy was saying. He wore small glasses that kept slipping down the bridge of his nose. Another was a dryad, with thick brown, nearly black hair and eyes of the same color. She had dried leaves tangled about her hair, and acorns appeared to be growing from the ends of some of the strands. The final was a Monkey, crouched on the seat of a stool and watching Lucy keenly.

Peter nodded to the guard and slid into the room behind them, signaling him to be quiet. He gave Lucy a half grin, and she gave him a shaking smile. "Your Majesty? If I may…" the Monkey said.

"Yes, Apothecary Treehopper?" Lucy said.

"What is in this cordial that you gave to your brother?" Apothecary Treehopper said. "I've heard rumors, of course, but…" she trailed off a second time.

"I'm not entirely sure," Lucy said slowly. "It was given to me as a gift, from Father Christmas when he first returned to Narnia. I believe that it has the juice from the Fireflower plant."

"And it didn't do anything?"

"No,"

"Remarkable," the Monkey muttered.

"Well, it wouldn't, would it?" the dryad said. "While the essence of the Fireflower would cure most poisons, it doesn't do a thing with the Darks. Am I correct, Master Leon?"

"Not entirely, Brynn," the faun said. "There was one account, from the year 508, in which there was a man in the Wildlands of the North doing experiments with the Darks. Actually, it was on the effect of the Fireflower draught against the Darks. Quite fascinating, really, one of the most – "

Brynn cleared her throat. Peter continued to silently watch from behind.

Leon blushed. "But I digress. The fact of the matter is that the draught – your remarkable cordial, Queen Lucy – only slowed down the poison's quest. One of the reasons that the Darks are so powerful is that they evolve, so to speak. What works against them once could very well make them more potent the next."

"My Queen," Brynn said. The Apothecary was nodding along with Leon. "If you'd continue…?"

"There's really nothing left to say," Lucy said. "After that, we summoned you all."

Peter chose that moment to make his presence known as he cleared his throat. The two Healers and the Apothecary turned. Their eyes widened as they sunk into curtsies and a bow. "Your Majesty,"

Lucy stood and came next to Peter. "How is he?" she whispered.

"No change," Peter answered, just as quietly. "Susan's with him."

Lucy nodded, and walked from the room. Peter didn't have to look to know that as soon as she was clear from the sight of those in the library, the youngest was sprinting up to Edmund's side. After all, it's what he wanted to be doing at that very moment.

"If you would sit, High King Peter?" Leon said, pushing his glasses up his nose as they slipped again. Just as Peter was about to do so, the door opened.

"Announcing the Healer Rannoch,"

A Stag walked in. He had ten point antlers, and walked with the air of one who wasn't quite sure he'd come to the correct place. "Forgive me my lateness, Majesties," Rannoch dipped his antlered head. "But there were some terrible winds that slowed my progress. I think that there's a storm brewing. It was positively _dreadful_."

"Accepted, Healer Rannoch," Peter said.

Again, Brynn cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, but we really should be getting on with this, yes?"

"Of course, of course," Rannoch took his place in the circle. "Naturally."

"Now, if your Majesty High King Peter could tell us about King Edmund?" Leon said. "Has he seemed ill before the party? Cold, fever, stomach pains?"

"He was tired," Peter said, trying to remember. In truth, he hadn't seen much of Edmund the last few days. In order to force his brother to relax, Peter had taken over his work load, with some help from Lucy. "I think he may've had a headache."

"Do you know how his Majesty King Edmund was sleeping?" Brynn stuck in. "Lightly, not at all, nightmares? Anything that deviated from his usual slumber?"

Peter resisted a snort. Edmund's sleeping patterns had always been erratic at best. Sometimes he'd go very close to three days without a blink of sleep. Yet, at other times, it was easier to get a rock to waltz than wake him up. And nightmares? Of course he had nightmares. "Why?"

"Because if he did," the Apothecary said. "It would narrow down the five to two, your Highest Majesty."

Peter nodded. "He had a nightmare the night before his birthday. He wouldn't say what it was about, but it had to have been bad. He dug his fingernails into his palms so much they bled."

"Then," Rannoch said gravely. "I would say that we are dealing with Lyviathan – the Nightmare poison."

"Or it could be King's Bane!" Brynn stuck in. Peter let them debate without interruption. He knew from experience that opposition was sometimes the best way to finding the answer of a problem. Of course, usually it was Edmund opposing him, and Edmund's life wasn't usually the one hanging in the balance. "The Waking Death. They start the same, Rannoch."

"I say Lyviathan," Rannoch insisted. He was scanning over Leon's notes of Lucy and Susan's accounts. "There is nothing here about seeing things that aren't there, is there? King's Bane would have him hallucinating by now. Oh, this is dreadful."

"Perhaps he has!" Brynn snapped. "He lies asleep and not talking above us! Who's to say he hasn't had waking dreams?"

"I say we give him the waking draught," pressed Rannoch. "If he can't sleep, then he won't dream and will be able to fend off the poison more readily!"

"But if it isn't Lyviathan, and it _is_ King's Bane, then the waking draught will end him for sure!" Brynn countered. "I say we wait."

Rannoch stamped a hoof. "And if it is Lyviathan and we wait, then we've sentenced him to death!"

"Leon?" Brynn asked.

"I agree with Rannoch." The faun said, almost guiltily.

"Abagaila," the dryad turned to the Monkey who had thus far remained silent. "Good Apothecary, surely you back me up?

"I'm here to brew whatever you lot tell me too," the Apothecary said. Brynn threw her hands into the air.

"I stand firm that it is Lyviathan," Rannoch said. Peter watched on in growing dread. Just as he thought it couldn't get worse…

Leon nodded. "I agree with Ran – "

"_Peter_!" Lucy's scream preceded her as she shot into the library. "Peter, come quickly!"

"Lucy?" he said, springing up from the chair and racing towards her. His baby sister was shaking, and her eyes were filled with tears. A few had escaped and ran down her cheeks. Peter felt panic, icy cold and white hot, climbing through his veins. "Lucy, what's wrong?"

She pulled on his hand and they ran from the room. The guard held up a hand to stop the Healers and Apothecary from following. "S-Susan's been attacked," she panted as they went. "A-A-And Edmund's g-gone!"

The gathered Narnians outside of the room parted like wheat from the wind to let the monarchs through. And, true to Lucy's word, Ritnik was briskly blotting away blood from Susan's bruised forehead. Susan herself seemed to be unconscious. Oreius wordlessly led Peter over to the balcony, and pointed. A rope that ran down to the ground was tied to the rail, and waved mockingly in the wind. In that moment, Peter had two thoughts: the first was that he was going to kill whoever hurt his family.

The next was that this was his entire fault. He knew he shouldn't have left the room!


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** King's Bane  
**Summery:** Its Edmund's 13th Birthday. But all's not well, what with a rebellion rising in Narnia and the White Witch appearing everywhere he looks…set in the Golden Age  
**Author:** Ultra-Geek  
**Disclaimer:** See previous chapters...  
**Rating:** T  
**AN –** I just realized that the last chapter didn't have a quote. My mistake! Oh, and yeah! The new Batman movie? It was _amazing_! My friend and I went to the midnight opening, and holy crap. Talk about intense! And Heath Ledger (Lord rest him) was simply bedazzling (It's a word!) as the Joker. (Ultra-Geek grins and stares at nothing (general ceiling direction). Readers shrug (and roll their eyes) and wonder what that has to do with the story (absolutely nothing). Ultra-Geek continues to grin and wonders (seriously) how many parentheses she can fit here (a lot (more than you'd expect (:p)))).

This chapter is pretty long, but hopefully worth it!

* * *

"_You should listen to your heart, and not the voices in your head." – Marge Simpson_

Edmund woke gently, a great difference from the jarring returns from sleep that he'd grown accustomed to. He was lying on a cold stone, and he could hear someone – or, more likely, something – moving about near him. He took a quick inventory of his self, and quickly came to the opinion that he was unharmed, save for the throbbing in his head. How did he get here? The last thing he remembered was –

Edmund gritted his teeth as a jolt of what felt like lightening laced just behind his eyes. He must've made some noise of discomfort, because whatever it was in the cave with him started closer. Edmund gathered himself, and when it was close enough, he shot up and managed to ram it in the stomach. The thing – a harpy, he realized – fell backwards with a small gasp and slammed its head against a stony outcropping in the cave. The harpy crumpled to the ground and lay still.

If this was a harpy's cave and he had no recollection of how he came to be here, Edmund assumed that he'd been kidnapped. And, if recent events were anything to go by, the Witch had to be involved, somehow. For the moment, however, the young king's only goal was to find a way back to Cair Paravel. His siblings had to be beside themselves with worry.

Edmund stood, feeling his legs wobble slightly beneath him, and looked more around the stony cave he was in. There was an opening to his right, and next to it a chest. The rest of the area was empty, lit only by a flickering torch. Edmund staggered to the chest, and had to rest a moment before seeing if it held anything that could help him. After the room stopped spinning, he heaved the cover off.

It seemed luck was finally on his side. For buried off to one side was a rope. He pulled it out, and grinned slightly to himself. He secured the cord to a rock at the mouth of the cave, and looked down. It seemed to be just about the same height as his balcony down to the gardens at the Cair. Edmund tested the rope, and was satisfied that it could hold his weight. He began to climb downwards.

Just before Edmund continued down the rope towards freedom, he glanced back. Only the harpy's clawed hand showed, lying immobile on the floor. But for a second – perhaps even less – it was if the sight before him flickered, slid out of focus and became something entirely new. It wasn't a cave, but a bedroom. And it wasn't a monster's claw, but a pale and slender hand. But before he had time to analyze the strange occurrence, a white-hot stab of pain echoed throughout his skull. It was excruciating to the point where he very nearly lost his grip on the rope. He shook his head and continued downward. Best not to dwell on it. And besides, it was probably just a trick of the Witch's.

By the time his feet hit the ground, Edmund had convinced himself of that. He jogged unsteadily away from the Cair and into the night, and disappeared into the mist.

* * *

"Your Majesty," Ritnik said quietly. Peter had been out in the corridor outside Edmund's chamber organizing search parties. He looked at the dwarf. "Queen Susan is awake."

Peter clenched his jaw and with a more than slightly shaking breath, walked from the hall. Lucy was sitting next to Susan, patting her hand comfortingly. "Susan?"

She didn't say anything. Several Narnians poked their heads around the doorframe. Oreius cleared his throat menacingly, and all but Philip and Ritnik cleared the room. Oreius glared at the Horse, and the Horse glared back. Then both turned their attention to Peter, Susan, and Lucy. The rest of the Narnians took the opportunity to peer, albeit much more subtly, into the room again. "Lucy said Edmund's gone," said Susan finally. Her blue eyes were filled with tears.

Peter nodded. Lucy squeezed her sister's hand. "We need you to tell us what happened, Su," he said. "Someone's attacked you, and taken Edmund and – "

"No," she whispered.

"What?" Lucy said. "What do you mean by that?"

"Peter…" said Susan, her voice suddenly. "No one broke in. I…Edmund's the one who…" she trailed off.

No one moved. Not a person whispered a single comment. All's attention was focused on the three monarchs. "Clear out, all of you!" Oreius barked at the Narnians. They didn't move.

"Come on, you lot," Philip said, shooting a darting glance over at Oreius, then to the three siblings. "Get out, get out. I said, get out! Let's move, all ready!" In a matter of moments, the Horse had cleared the room and was herding the audience down the hall and away.

"Ritnik," Oreius said. "Perhaps you should go as well."

"The Queen – " began the dwarf.

"Oreius is right." Peter said. Ritnik pursed her lips, but then hobbled to the door.

"All right, all right. I know when I'm not wanted." she grumbled, and pulled the door shut behind her.

"Susan," Peter said, breaking yet another tense silence that had fallen over the room. "You need to tell me what happened exactly."

"I was just over there," she pointed slightly. "And I think that I heard Edmund sort of gasp, so I went to check on him. But he sort of leaped up, and I dashed my head against that shelf there."

"But Edmund wouldn't," Lucy said. "He wouldn't."

"He's not in his right mind." Susan said. "We need to talk to the Healers. To Brynn and Leon and the rest."

"Maybe we should – "

"No!" Susan snapped. She stood, and wobbled slightly. "Look, Edmund attacked me and now seems to be running off to Aslan knows where and who knows where he is right now! Our brother is dying! And so we aren't going to take the time to sort this through. That can wait. Right now, Lucy and I are going to go and talk to Brynn and Rannoch and the others. And you, you are going to go and bring Edmund home. And if you don't, I swear by Aslan himself, Peter Pevensie, I will never forgive you!"

Susan stormed from the room. Peter gaped for a moment, and Lucy lay a hand on his arm. "She didn't mean it, Peter," said the youngest Queen quietly. "She's just scared, and upset."

"People tend to say the things they mean most when they're like that," Peter whispered. Then he shook himself. "But she's right. Sitting here isn't going to change anything. Lucy, go with Susan."

"I want to help you find Edmund!" she protested.

"I know," Peter said. He glanced at Oreius who had stayed quiet, being a silent observer. "But there's someone out there who obviously doesn't mean us well. So I need you to stay here, if only for my peace of mind. I also need you to take care of Susan."

"Fine." Lucy said after a moment. Then she leaped forward and hugged Peter tightly around the neck. "I'm scared," she whispered.

He hugged her close, and closed his eyes for a brief moment. "I know," he said back. Lucy pulled away and exited the room.

"Oreius," Peter said.

"Your Majesty,"

He walked from the room, the centaur keeping pace with him. "We need to get Dogs out now. Bats, too. It's almost dawn, so send out whatever Birds are here as well."

"It's all ready done," said Oreius. As he finished speaking, one of the Hounds, a Setter, came bounding up to them.

"Majesty, General," the Setter panted. "We've picked up his trail. But there's a storm brewing that could make things more difficult."

"Thank you." Peter said. "I want this search party small. A Dog, a Horse, and you, Oreius. There's someone out there that wishes my brother ill. The less attention we draw to the fact that he's alone, incapacitated, and unprotected, the better."

"What Dog and Horse?" Oreius asked.

"The fastest Hound," Peter said, and then he considered for a moment. "And Niné,"

Niné was one of the Cair's frequent equestrian visitors. He was renowned for his speed and agility. "I'll send word," Oreius said. He nodded at the Setter, who took off running for the stables.

"Oreius," Peter said. He stopped and faced the centaur gravely. "I will not return until I find Edmund."

"I know." the centaur said. In fact, he had expected nothing less.

"High King Peter!" a voice cried. Philip came walking up next to him, and the dryad Brynn glided from his back. "Here," the dryad said. She pushed a cloth bag into his hand.

"What is this?"

"Its some herbs. They cause sleeping." Brynn said. "We wanted one of the Healers to accompany you, but King Edmund's trail leads to far from my tree, and the rest of us are too old to keep up. Your sister has told us what…what happened. We know now, like I originally suspected, that it's the poison King's Bane. If they'd just listened to me sooner…but never mind. If you find King Edmund and he is of sound mind, you must get him to take these. King's Bane, once its reached it's full potential, is only effective when the victim's awake. But otherwise…" she trailed off.

"What do you mean, of 'sound mind'?" Peter pressed. "If he's not, will these work?"

"I – "

"Will they work?"

"If he's not," Brynn said soberly, her voice and face grave. "Then it is up to your brother alone. They probably won't effect him."

"Brynn," Peter said. "Is Edmund going to…I mean, what are his chances of his fighting his off alone?"

"I don't know," she answered. "…But no one's ever bested one of the Darks. Ever."

Peter swallowed thickly. He tied the bag to his belt and nodded, unable to speak.

She bowed her head slightly in return, and walked back towards where she'd come. Philip, however, stayed. "I'm coming," he said.

"No," Peter said. "You've been up all night, Philip."

"So have you,"

"But I won't be the one running." Peter explained. They'd reached the doors that led outside where Oreius, the Dog, and Niné were waiting. "I need a fresh Horse."

"Forgive me, Majesty," Philip planted himself between Peter and the doors. "I can carry you quicker and more reliably than _him_." – he cast a dirty look at the other Horse – "I bested Niné in a race, just yesterday though it seems much longer ago now. And you can order me to stay here, but I warn you. I will risk being tried for treason and imprisoned for the rest of my life for breaking that order. King Edmund is in danger, Majesty, and I will only follow you if you don't allow me to join. I must help my king."

Peter almost gave in. He almost broke down and told Philip he could come. It was the way that Philip ended his argument. _My_ king. It was a term Narnians usually only used when talking to those from beyond their borders. Otherwise it was _our_ king or _the_ king. But Philip wasn't talking of Edmund in respect as a monarch. Edmund was _Philip's_ charge, _his_ boy. _His_ king. But in the end, it was about what was best for his brother.

"You'll slow us down." Peter said. "I'm giving you an order, Philip, and placing you under guard. Mr. Tumnus?"

The faun trotted forward. "Yes, High King Peter?"

"Make sure Philip doesn't leave your sight."

"Yes, sire."

In that moment, Peter felt that if looks could kill his life would be in just as much jeopardy as Edmund's.

Several minutes later, the search party was ready. And as they rode from the Cair, it began to rain.

Susan paced back and forth in the library absently. Lucy had gone to talk to the panicking guests, while she stayed here. After the sisters had recounted the last half an hour with the Healers, it was decided that the poison King's Bane was behind it.

Then she was told there was basically nothing that they could do.

Brynn slipped back into the room. She glanced over at Rannoch and Apothecary Treehopper, who were both near the fire. The dryad nodded at Leon, who quietly marked his place in the book he'd been paging through and stood. They walked over to Susan. "Queen Susan," said Leon quietly. "May we have a word with you? Outside?"

"Yes," she said, and they exited. If the Deer or the Monkey noticed their leaving, neither made an indication of it. Brynn closed the door once the three were all out of the library.

"Queen Susan," Brynn said. "There is something that Leon and I have been discussing. Frankly, it's a very disturbing notion, but we can't think of anything other."

"If its to help Edmund, then just say it, please," Susan said coolly.

"Well," the faun shifted slightly from hoof to hoof. "It's more of how…how King Edmund came to be in his current predicament."

"And?"

"King's Bane, as you know, is rare. The objects that go into it are just as rare." Leon continued. "The only one who would have access to those things, along with the knowledge of brewing them together correctly…they would have to be an Apothecary of considerable standing, your Majesty."

Susan stared, looking from one healer to the other. "Are you saying that the Apothecary Treehopper may have poisoned my brother?"

"We're saying it's a distinct possibility that she was involved." Brynn said. "And in order to create King's Bane, one needs an extensive knowledge of poisons, like – "

"Like she does," Susan whispered. She suddenly felt very out of her league, and intensely aware that she was only fifteen years old. But she was a Queen of Narnia, and she couldn't jump to conclusions. Susan felt a newfound respect for Edmund, the one of them who dealt with things like assigning blame every day. After all, he was the Just. "Thank you, both of you, for telling me this."

* * *

Peter and Oreius followed the Dog, Bask, for quite awhile. Not a word was spoken between them, and the sun began to rise in the east. _Please, Aslan,_ Peter thought silently. _Help me find Edmund. Don't let us be too late._

But then Bask fell to an abrupt stop. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he realized that they'd come to a fork in the road. "The scents to thin," the Bloodhound said. "I can't tell which way he went from here."

"We split up then," Peter said. "Oreius, take Bask and go left. Niné and I will go right. If you find anything, send word." He had to yell to be heard over the rain. It had begun to create more of a torrential downpour than anything else.

* * *

Edmund had heard them following. He could hear a snuffling. A Wolf, he had decided. There were others, and they could only be lingerings of Her army. He could only decide that because he wouldn't come to Her, the Witch was trying to get him to come by force. _I don't think I'll ever be free of her,_ he thought. The water poured down on him from the sky, and he shivered.

"At least," he muttered to himself. "It isn't snow."

Edmund came to a tree, and pulled himself slowly up. His arms ached, his legs protested, and his muscles yelled. Finally, he perched in the branch, and waited.

* * *

"Look there, your Majesty," Niné said, motioning with his nose towards the edge of the path. The rain had suddenly let up to just a drizzle, but if the late spring of last year was anything to go by, Narnia still had much of a storm to hold out for. "Do you see the marks in the mud?"

"Edmund," Peter whispered, slipping from the Horse to the ground. He followed the prints to the foot of a tree, and then looked up.

One can hardly blame him for being taken by surprise. After all, Peter hardly expected Edmund to come hurdling out of a tree with a very large stick and cracking him on the head with it.

Peter stumbled backwards. Niné let out a whinny of surprise and danced backwards. "I'm going to fetch Oreius," the Horse called, and galloped away. Peter cursed, deciding rather belatedly that perhaps Philip would've been the better choice.

"I won't go back," Edmund yelled at him, for the rain had begun to fall heavily again. "You can't make me, tell your Mistress I'd rather die than go back!"

"My Mistress?" Peter yowled back at him. He took a step forward. Edmund backed up. He was holding the stick like a spear, and his dark eyes were both wild and controlled at the same moment. His black hair was plastered down to his forehead. Peter knew that he himself couldn't look much better. But then a bolt of comprehension shot through the High King's mind. Edmund must've meant the Witch. "_Oh_,"

"Stay back!" Edmund snapped.

Peter held his hands up. "Edmund, you need to listen to me," he said, somehow making his loud voice calm over the torrent of water. "You've been poisoned. You're not yourself."

"I won't go back!" Edmund repeated.

"No one's making you go anywhere," said Peter. He unbuckled his sword and set it to the ground. "Here, see?" He took another step forward.

"I said stay back!" snarled his brother. Peter noticed how he was swaying slightly, his face pale.

"Edmund, its me," Peter said. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to help."

Edmund swallowed, and then shook his head slightly with a wince.

"I'd never hurt you, Ed," He continued. "It's Peter. Remember?"

The stick hit the mud with a thump. "P-Peter?" Edmund stuttered. "I-I…I think I'm g-going to…"

He pitched forward towards the path. For the second time in two days, Peter dove forward and caught him before he hit the ground.

* * *

Edmund had never been so confounded in his life.

He was at once standing in the clearing facing the Witch's man, and lying in Peter's arms and unable to move. He was backing away from him, and listening to his brother's desperate pleas to just _wake up._

Edmund felt something bending and tearing. He couldn't take it. He couldn't figure out what was real and what was imagined. An unnamable force writhed inside of him. Sights and sounds and thoughts and tastes and feelings all flickered in and out of focus. Edmund didn't know what was real, which way to go. He couldn't do this anymore, oh, Aslan, it _hurt._

In both worlds he heard himself scream out. "Make it stop! I can't do it, just make it stop!"

And it did.

* * *

Sorry this took so long, but the next chapter's basically written. I just need to edit it a bit more. And for some reason this one was just a complete pain in the you-know-where to write. And the weird thing is, I think its because I knew exactly what needed to happen, so there was no where for me to play with it at all…ah, well.


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:** King's Bane  
**Summery:** Its Edmund's 13th Birthday. But all's not well, what with a rebellion rising in Narnia and the White Witch appearing everywhere he looks…set in the Golden Age  
**Author:** Ultra-Geek  
**Disclaimer:** Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I said I did own something (which I don't). Would the FBI show up at my house, grapple down the side and go all Jack Bauer on me? It would be interesting, but as I'd rather not get Jack Bauered, I own nothing at all.  
**Rating:** T  
**AN – **I just saw Prince Caspian again at our local Budget Theater. It's just as good the third time around. Anyway, the point of this story is that there were these people sitting in front of my friends and I. They were talking very, very loudly. Normally, I can tune that stuff out, but they kept calling Reepicheep a rat.

I'm fairly certain it's said at least like, five times that Reepicheep is, in fact, a mouse. I get up in arms about that stuff because Reepicheep is possibly one of my favorite fictional characters of all time. Anyway, moral of the story: I will glare at you dirtily throughout a movie and kick the back of your seat if you don't a.) Stop talking or b.) Stop calling Reepicheep a rat. On with the story!

* * *

_"Is there no way out of the mind?" – Sylvia Plath_

* * *

This was different than that day at Beruna.

There, Peter had been able to fight something, anything, to at least try and protect Edmund. But here, now, sitting alone in the rain, all he could do was hold on to him tighter, beg him for just some sign that he was going to be okay. But Edmund's eyelids remained closed with his eyeballs roving beneath them, his temperature falling, the rising, and then plummeting again. Peter rocked himself backward onto the ground and kept his brother pulled close.

At Beruna, he'd at least known what was hurting Edmund.

Now, there was nothing he could do. His only brother – his baby brother – was _dying_ in his _arms_ and he couldn't do a thing to stop it. Except pray for Niné to run faster. "Edmund, please, just pull through this," Peter whispered into hair drenched by the downpour and sweat. His voice cracked and he felt his eyes pricking with tears begging to be shed. "I need you with me. Don't do this,"

Edmund's lanky form tensed. His dark eyes flew open, staring down something that Peter couldn't see. "C-can't…" he slurred and stuttered.

"Edmund, yes you can," Peter didn't care if Edmund had been talking to himself or to his hallucinations. "You don't have a choice. Damn it, Ed, just do as you're told!" The High King's fear had turned to a smoldering anger. Someone had hurt his brother. And if he didn't pull through, then not even death itself would stop Peter from hunting them down.

He tightened his grip on the fallen King as Edmund began to writhe and twist. He screamed out, "_Make it stop! I can't do it, just make it stop!"_

Peter didn't even try and hold back his tears. They poured freely down his face and mixed with the rain, but Peter didn't realize it. "I'm trying, by the Lion, Edmund, I'm trying!"

He stopped talking. Edmund's face had relaxed and he slumped forward.

"No," Peter whispered. "Oh, no, no, no! You can't do this to me! Do you hear me, you can't do this!" His voice crescendoed into a frantic scream. "You're better than this! What do I do? Aslan, what do I do? _WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?!"_

Edmund had stopped breathing.

* * *

He was sitting in a silent wood. The only noise came somehow from above him and below him and even inside of him all at once, and it reminded Edmund of a waterfall. He looked around. He didn't hurt anymore. Actually, he didn't feel anything at all. No surprise, no anger, no happiness…it was as if he'd almost ceased to exist.

In a detached way, it registered that he wasn't wearing clothes from Narnia. They were from the other place. What had it been called? Not Spare Oom, as so many said it was, but…oh, that's right. England. They were English clothes, and English shoes. But even with his at best sporadic memories of his old home he knew he wasn't there. Yet, at the same time, he knew he wasn't in Narnia either. Or, at least, this part of him – the bit that made him Edmund – wasn't.

He blinked drowsily, listening to the sound. It was, he decided, less of a waterfall and more like the sound a herd of horses made when riding across the open plains. Or even more like an autumn wind weaving through the Western Wood, or gulls flapping excitedly through the sails of a ship. It took a moment for him to realize that while it was like all of these things, it was at the exact same time, none of them. Whatever it was, Edmund found he was being gently lulled into a sleep by its comforting lullaby.

"Oh, _there_ you are Edmund!" He looked to his right towards where the voice had come from.

"Lucy?"

"Of course its me," She bounded towards him and stopped just a pace a way.

"We've been looking all over for you," He looked behind him. Susan was standing there with her arms crossed, looking down at him.

"Really?" Edmund asked.

"Yes," Now Peter was there too. Edmund was certain that he hadn't been next to Lucy a moment before. He also took note that they were all garbed in proper, Narnian garments, quite unlike himself. Susan moved around so that they stood in a row in front of him. "You really do need to stop wandering off like that."

"Why? Did I go somewhere?" He asked. He noted how calm his voice was. Edmund wondered detachedly if he should be more upset by this.

"You've been gone for _ages_," Lucy said, huffing a little. "We were worried you weren't going to come back this time."

"Sorry,"

"Don't be," Susan said. "It isn't like it's your fault."

Edmund nodded and felt his eyes begin to droop closed. He was so tired. He just needed sleep. And now his family was here, so it was safe. They'd make sure nothing would happen. He was just so…so…

A hand slapped the back of his head sharply. Edmund's eyes fluttered open again. "No sleeping," Peter commanded. "Just do as you're told, Ed, just this once,"

"But I'm exhausted." Edmund complained.

"And you should be," said Susan urgently. "After everything that's happened. But you mustn't sleep. You won't be able to wake up again. You'll be sleeping forever!"

In his sluggish, peaceful state of mind, Edmund mulled that over. "That doesn't sound all that bad, sleeping forever. It sounds rather nice, actually. No mornings ever again, and I suppose no dignitaries or birthday parties either…"

"Don't fall asleep," Lucy stuck her lip out and widened her eyes. "Please?"

He shrugged. The last few years he'd found himself able to defend against ogres, trolls, and foul beast of all kinds, but the Lucy-face still rendered him completely helpless. "All right."

"Now, Edmund," Peter said sternly. "You need to think about what's happened."

Edmund closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm much too tired. Tomorrow?"

"No!" The three standing rulers of Narnia snapped. Edmund's eyes opened again. "You must remember."

"I – I was…chasing something? No, that's not it," He trailed off. "I was chasing someone. The White Witch!" Peter nodded in encouragement. Edmund began to wonder through the haze how he'd managed to forget that.

"What else?" Lucy pressed. "Before all of that,"

"I don't know. I was running away through the woods, and then there was one of Her men but it was Peter too, and then everything got all split and I was in two places at once, and I just wanted the pain to stop."

"And?"

Edmund was silent for a moment, staring at the grass. Then he looked up at his siblings again. "I think," He said, squinting slightly. "I may be dead. Or dying, at least."

Susan nodded. "Yes."

"So its like a dream?"

"A bit,"

"So, if I'm dreaming, then I can make Peter dress like a jester just by thinking it?" He looked at his brother hopefully, but he was still wearing his armor.

Peter snorted. "Sorry, Ed. Not that kind of dream. Besides, I'm just a figment of your imagination. You know, just trying to get you to wake up again."

"We all are," Susan said.

"Oh," Edmund shrugged. "That's too bad."

Susan began to walk away. "Now, come along. We really should be going."

Edmund looked sheepishly down at his folded hands. "I don't think that I'm able to stand up, actually."

"Of course you are," Peter scolded lightly.

"No, I'm stuck sitting," said Edmund with a slight shrug. "My feet don't want to move. I can't get up."

"Yes, you can." Lucy smiled at him. She grabbed a hold of his right hand and began to pull. "You just need a little help getting started."

Susan grabbed his left hand and began to tug as well. Peter's strong arms were suddenly beneath his armpits and towing him forward. But then the woods were melting away, and Edmund was floating in a vast black nothingness. There was a light up ahead of him, and he began to go towards it. But the closer he got, the more his muscles protested, the more his head pounded. His chest felt like a ton of bricks had taken up residence. He glanced behind him towards the darkness. It didn't hurt back there…

_No. _A voice, a terrible and good voice, thundered from around him.

"Aslan?" said Edmund.

_Keep going forward, Dear One._

"But it hurts that way,"

_The right way almost always does, Edmund. You should know this._

"I suppose so." Edmund said. "But Aslan, the Witch – "

– _Is gone. All will be explained in time._

"Are you sure I have to go that way?"

The Lion's voice chuckled. _Go. I am with you. I am here._

* * *

Peter cradled Edmund's still form to his chest and sobbed. He felt his heart had been ripped out and stabbed, shredded into innumerable pieces that could never be put back together again. He'd begun to just keep repeating the same word over and over in a shattered mantra, "No, no, no, no, no, _no_!"

He'd failed. He'd failed and now Edmund was gone and it didn't matter when help got here. He'd failed at the one thing he always swore he never would fail at again. He'd not protected his siblings well enough, and now Edmund was dead, he was dead, and this time he was staying that way and he wasn't coming back. "No, no, oh, _please,_ no, he's barely thirteen, no, no, no!"

Even though it didn't matter now, Peter raised his head to look at Edmund's face. The rain let up, and the clouds parted to let several fleeting rays of light through the trees. He shakily brushed his brother's black bangs from his forehead. No amount of brushing could ever quite tame its unruliness. It was like the head it grew upon – there wasn't a soul who could tell it what to do. But Edmund was dead, and he wasn't coming –

Edmund's hand twitched.

Peter's tears and hiccups of grief just stopped. He gaped. _Don't let it have been my imagination,_ was the only thought he could manage. "Please," whispered the High King.

It twitched again. And not only that, but also Edmund coughed, and his lids fluttered open and they weren't staring at something Peter couldn't see. He was just looking up at Peter with blood shot eyes.

"Edmund?" said Peter. He was very near hysterics now, and he wouldn't have been able to say if he was laughing or crying. He pulled his brother up into a cradled half sitting position, keeping his arms around him. Edmund's gaze never left his brother's face. "It's all right, it's okay, I've got you. You're safe. I've got you."

Peter wasn't entirely sure which one of them he was trying to convince.

Edmund balled his hands into Peter's shirt and buried his face into it. His frame began to shake even harder than before, and Peter just held onto him. He wasn't going to loose his brother again. He whispered nonsense and comforts into Edmund's hair. Where was that damned Niné? Edmund was back, but what if he slipped off again? What if he didn't wake up next time?

"King Peter?" a voice called out. Peter almost laughed. For though the voice was most definitely that of a Horse, it was deeper than the mount he'd left on. It was also supposed to be back at the Cair under guard.

"Philip, I told you this was a bad idea!" came Tumnus' voice.

"Oh, be quiet, Mister Tumnus," Philip muttered. And now Peter did smile.

He smiled and thanked Aslan for ridiculously loyal and stubborn Horses.

* * *

This was actually the first part of King's Bane that I wrote. Funny how that works, sometimes. End to beginning and what not…

Anyway, Ed's not out of the woods yet, pun intended. Also, we got to have some justice, eh?

(Peter glares; Free Narnians flee in terror)

Review, 'cause it boosts my ego and exercises your fingers. And everyone knows muscular fingers are attractive to both genders! Thus, reviewing will get you a date.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title:** King's Bane  
**Summery:** Its Edmund's 13th Birthday. But all's not well, what with a rebellion rising in Narnia and the White Witch appearing everywhere he looks…set in the Golden Age  
**Author:** Ultra-Geek  
**Disclaimer:** I'm too lazy to think of a clever disclaimer today. So just look at the seven other ones.  
**Rating:** T  
**AN –** Does anyone here know what a 'Schnitzel Bank' is? All I know is that it's German. Because I found this old poster at my Grandma and Grandpa's old house (they moved and were clearing stuff out to bring to Goodwill and whatnot). And it has the lyrics to this song, where you sing 'Ist das nicht eine Schnitzel Bank? Ja das ist eine Schnitzel Bank!'. Translated to English, it means 'Is that not the Schnitzel Bank? Yes that is the Schnitzel Bank' and you go through the verses and it has little pictures for everything. Like one is 'Wagen Rad' or 'Wagon Wheel'.

But even looking at the picture of the Schnitzel Bank, I'm quite at a loss.

So if anyone knows what it is, feel free to pass it right along. I must say, its driving me batty. The poster is right near my computer, so when I get stuck I find myself staring at it and saying aloud, "What are you?"

On with the story!

* * *

_"The mildest, drowsiest sister has been known to turn tiger if her sibling is in trouble." – Clara Ortega_

* * *

Niné came into the courtyard first. Lucy felt her heart skip a beat when she saw the Horse's saddle was empty. But then Philip came clopping in, and on his back were her brothers. Mister Tumnus scurried along next to him, and Lucy felt a burst of almost amusement at the way he attempted to hold his umbrella over the kings. They rode bareback, both soaked to the bone (even with the shielding from Mister Tumnus), with Edmund sitting in front. His eyes were closed and his head tipped forward upon his chest. Peter had one hand gripping the reins, the other tightly wrapped around his brother. Oreius brought up the rear. All ready members of Cair Paravel's staff were rushing forward with blankets and cups of hot drinks.

Lucy came up to Peter as he slid to the ground. He reached up and pulled Edmund down so that he was carrying him like a baby, cradled to his chest. Several attendants came rushing up. "We can take him, your Majesty, and – "

"No." Peter whispered simply. It came out low, dull and sharp all in one moment. Lucy herself felt like backing away with the attendants herself at the word. Peter repeated himself once. "No." He walked straight for the doors to escape the light drizzle that danced from the sky, and Lucy scurried in his wake. The great doors slammed behind them ominously as lightening laced across the clouds.

Staff and dignitaries scurried out of their way, and Lucy quickly pulled open the door blocking Peter's route to Edmund's room. For the first time he seemed to register that she was there. "Peter," she whispered, and it seemed to echo throughout the halls. Her eyes twitched down to the younger king. "Edmund?"

"The sleeping herbs from Brynn," Peter said as they hurried down the halls. Lucy realized that the whisper in the courtyard wasn't a fluke; he sounded the way one does after crying or yelling for a very long while. She wondered in a detached way if she wanted to know what had happened on the search for Edmund. "She said if it was too…too late it wouldn't matter, but…I…I had to do something."

Too late. The words echoed in Lucy's mind as she followed half of a step behind. Too late. Was that even possible? Edmund, it was true, did have a habit of drawing things to the very last possible moment, so why should this be any different? No, Lucy decided. They weren't too late. It just plainly was not an option.

"Susan?" said Peter in his gravely half-whisper.

"With the Healers." Lucy said. "I'll send someone to tell her you're back once Edmund's settled."

Peter nodded. They fell into silence. The only sounds around them were the wet slap of Peter's boots, the whisking of Lucy's slippers, and Edmund's sleeping breaths. After a minute or eternity, they arrived at Edmund's chambers. Lucy pulled open the door, and Peter pushed past and in.

"Wait, don't set him down yet," Lucy said. "We'll dry him off first, get some dry clothes. Otherwise his bed will only get soggy and he'll get a cold on top of everything."

She walked back out the door into the hall, fully intent on finding some towels. But sitting on the ground were at least ten of them. They'd been placed there in the short seconds she and Peter had had their backs turned. Smiling quietly, she made a small mental note to track down the patrons and thank them. But the curve of her mouth simply dropped as she thought of her brothers.

Peter, when she reentered the room, was sitting in the chair with Edmund cradled in his lap. Edmund's toe-tips brushed the floor. "When did he get so tall?" Peter asked, looking up at Lucy.

"He'll be taller than all of us, soon," Lucy said. She handed a towel to Peter and went to fetch dry clothes for the both of them. She pretended as hard as she could that she hadn't heard Peter's stricken whisper.

"If he makes it that long…"

Once the boys were taken care of – Peter refused to leave Edmund's side at this point, and really, no one cared to try and move him – Lucy moved down the corridor with her round face grimly determined. All around her as she swept through, doors barely cracked open clicked close. She didn't worry. Her brothers would come to no more harm tonight. But now Lucy had a mission. She wanted to know what had happened in the woods.

* * *

Susan sat in a chair separate from the Healers and Apothecary, a book open on her knees. Every few moments, she would turn a page. However, if one were to ask her what the volume was about, she would have been at quite the loss for an explanation. The book was but a pretense as she snatched glances at Treehopper. Moments after the conference with Brynn and Leon, she had passed the information onto Lucy and several of their security. Susan tapped her finger against the binding.

She hadn't expected it to be Narnians attacking Edmund. Calormenes, possibly. Archenlanders, maybe, though it was highly unlikely. Remnants from the Witch's armies had seemed the most probable. But Narnians? She'd be lying if she said the thought had even crossed her mind.

It was probably just the shadows fluttering in the room that made Treehopper's eyes seem so malignant. There was a moment where Susan had thought she'd seen the Monkey smile slightly; but then again, the Queen had been awake all the night and had a minor head wound, so her eyes were likely to be playing tricks with her mind.

Still…

All she needed was proof. One small piece, a tiny shred. Susan was no fool. She trusted her intuition. And right now, it was telling her that the Monkey had harmed her little brother. It made her want to leap from the chair and slam the book across the Primate's head, demanding why, why would she want to do such a thing? Edmund was a perfectly lovely person, once you got to know him and past the pessimistic sarcasm. And even that was endearing in its own caustic way.

But instead, she flipped the page, flicked her eyes towards Abagaila, and continued to pretend to read.

For really, she wasn't looking at this the correct way. Treehopper had not been anywhere near Cair Paravel before she'd been summoned. But then, perhaps, she'd had someone else do it. But that would mean that more than just the Apothecary was involved, that maybe this was an entire conspiracy all wanting to see Edmund buried. Susan shivered slightly. No. No, no, no. She was overthinking this entire thing. It was an unfortunate coincidence. Surely the Witch's old army had access to evil things like the Darks.

New page, repeated glance.

"Queen Susan?"

The call made her jump, and the book very nearly fell from her lap. "Yes?"

"Your brothers are back," said the messenger. "Queen Lucy said to tell you they are in King Edmund's room,"

"Thank you," she said. The messenger bowed, almost tripping over himself in his hasty retreat. Susan stood, brushing her rumpled party dress. She wondered idly why she hadn't changed out of it yet. Had it really only been last night? "You must excuse me," she said. "Leon? If you would be so kind as to accompany me? The Kings may need aid." She wouldn't leave Treehopper alone for an instant; thus meaning Brynn would stay behind with Rannoch and the Monkey.

As they walked, Susan continued to ponder in silence. What if, she found herself thinking, what if the Apothecary didn't need to come to Cair Paravel? What if Edmund had gone to her? But why? He had no need for an Apothecary's services. Unless he'd went on errand for someone else. But he'd need a reason, something to get away from. Susan froze, her hand drifting to her slightly opened mouth in very near pure terror. Something like hastily making an escape from pressures of party planning.

Leon paused. "Your Majesty?" he asked.

_I might've well have poisoned him myself._ She thought. But no, she didn't know for sure. She needed to find out. And the only being who where Edmund went would be…yes. "Leon, you know the way to King Edmund?"

"Yes," he said uncertainly.

"Then find Ritnik the dwarf, and go there. King Peter will be there, assuredly, and perhaps Queen Lucy as well." Susan instructed.

"You are not going?"

"Please tell Peter I've…thought of something. That might help us," said Susan. Then she turned and walked swiftly away. "I must find Philip," she muttered to herself.

* * *

"I'm s-sorry, your Majesty," Brynn said to Lucy. Lucy had run into her on the search for Mister Tumnus. The dryad appeared faded, wispy, and she shivered in a cold breeze no one else could feel. "But I cannot stay any longer. My tree and I…we've been apart t-too long. And really, there's nothing we can d-do at this point."

Lucy bit her lip, feeling as if they were losing one of the only people that she knew they could trust. But what else could she say but for Brynn to return home? She nodded. "I understand. Thank you, thank you for helping Edmund."

Brynn nodded once, and walked away. Lucy scrubbed at her eyes. She was almost eleven – much to old for crying. But she didn't know what else to do. So she took a moment in the halls to collect herself, and entered the library. Only Treehopper and Rannoch were there – no sign of Leon or Susan. She swallowed tightly. No sense in leaving now.

* * *

Susan found Philip standing below Edmund's window. Someone had pulled the rope in that he'd climbed down during the night, however. But she could still see where it was tied to the banister. Her heart had nearly stopped when Philip had answered that, yes, he and Edmund had just been to the Apothecary's to get Mella Cat's medicine. But there was nothing to prove that the Monkey had any ill will against Edmund.

"Are you sure?" she asked, hearing the anxiety coloring her voice. "That's all that happened?"

"Yes, your Majesty. I mean, no. We were leaving and he thought he got bit by a bug."

"Where?"

"Back of his neck." Philip said. Then the Horse's ears flattened upon Susan's small gasp. "It was her, wasn't it? By the Lion, that dratted Apothecary's what's hurt E…King Edmund, isn't she? I ought to kick in her round little skull!"

Susan quite agreed.

* * *

Lucy hoped she wouldn't regret in what she'd said in the library. On a whim, a simple burst of instinct, she'd taken one look at Abagaila, then at the stag, and said: "There is nothing more for you to do here. Leon the faun can care for my brother, along with Ritnik Dwarf." Both of the Animals looked stunned. "My royal sister and brothers thank you, for we owe you Edmund's life."

She turned on her heel, and ran straight into Susan and Oreius. Susan took her by the elbow and propelled her to what the sisters had referred to as the War Room – where Edmund and Peter planned their campaigns. It had atlases and maps and battle plans of all shapes and sizes. But Lucy figured Susan only wanted it for its secrecy. When the door was shut, Susan filled Lucy and Oreius in on what Philip had told her.

"Oh, Susan," Lucy said when she'd finished. "I've sent them home! They've left by now."

"That's all right, Lu, what's done is done." Susan said quietly. She turned her attention to the centaur. In that moment, Lucy found herself thinking of how much Susan resembled their brothers. "Oreius, as General, you can place someone under arrest, correct?"

"Yes, your Majesty." Oreius answered. "But I require a warrant, but I fear that is impossible."

"I'll write it!" Lucy volunteered.

"It has to come from the ruler of the area of Narnia that the arrested one comes from. In this case, the Western Woods." Oreius said. "High King Peter for the North, Queen Susan for the South, you for the East, and for the West…" he trailed off.

"Edmund," Susan said gravely. "And he can't."

"Which is why one of us gets to!" Lucy said. She sorted quickly though an atlas and came up with the map, and pointed. "Look here, if one of us can't govern our bit of Narnia, then the others take over for a time, right?"

"I would rule the Southwest," Susan's eyes lit up a little as she caught on. "And Peter is hardly in a state to take over the Northwest at the moment, meaning you would,"

"Yes," said Lucy. "Now, where is the Apothecary's tree?"

Susan and Lucy bent over the map, hair spilling over it and being hurriedly tucked behind ears. "There!" Susan said suddenly, pointing. "I get to write the warrant!"

She pulled out a piece of parchment, and began writing while Lucy interrupted from time to time to make a suggestion.

"Oreius, I want you to go and search Apothecary Treehopper's residence." Susan instructed. She signed her name sloppily at the bottom of the warrant, and handed it to the General. "You are to place her under arrest immediately. Philip's witnessing should suffice for reasoning. And Oreius, if she should resist, don't be afraid to use force." The 'gentle' Queen's eyes flashed at her last words. They both, though neither would say it aloud were rather hoping the Monkey would attempt to fight.

"Yes, Majesty." Oreius bowed, and walked out from the castle. Word spreads quickly, however, inside of Cair Paravel. Within moments, he found himself with a tirade of volunteers, all wanting to go and arrest the one who had dared to hurt their little King. But Oreius was nothing if not commanding, and quickly he sorted through the Narnians with who would come and who would only hinder them if they came. So when the General had his arrest party, he was sure they had the exact number he wanted. Granted, it had taken three hours, however, he was satisfied.

But then he passed by Philip, who was standing beneath King Edmund's window and staring up at it with all of the ferocity of a pit bull. Oreius paused a moment, and the only movement the Horse made was that of his mane and tail blowing in the wind. "Master Philip," Oreius said in greeting, trotting over.

"General," Philip said in response, his face unmoving from its place. Not even his eyes flicked over to the centaur.

"Might I inquire, good Horse, what it is you're doing?"

"Look, last time he got out of the window." Philip said. "I won't let that happen again."

"Ah," Oreius said. And then he felt a grim smile settle in place. "I do think, Philip, that I have a better way to use your time…"

* * *

Abagaila had known she'd only a matter of time before the trail was laced back to her. But she hadn't expected it so soon, for she'd only just returned to her tree two and a half hours ago. She hadn't had time to burn the letters or anything of the sort. But she saw the harsh faces of the party coming toward her door, and she simply grabbed what remained of the King's Bane and threw it into the fire. The smoke turned inky black and a horrid smell filled the tree, but the Monkey smiled. The worst of the evidence was gone.

There was a knock at her small door, near the window. She peered out at the large centaur, which could only be the General Oreius. To his right was Philip Horse, and behind him all manner of satyrs and fauns and dwarves, numbering up to fifteen. "Yes?"

"Step outside," Philip growled out. General Oreius sent a glare at him, and the Horse amended through gritted teeth. "Step outside, _please_."

When she had done so, the centaur was handed a scroll.

"Apothecary Abagaila Treehopper," the General read. "By order of the Queen Susan the Gentle, and in co-ordinance with High King Peter the Magnificent, Emperor of the Lone Islands, etc., and Queen Lucy the Valiant, you are placed under arrest for high treason, attempted murder of King Edmund the Just, and for breaking the laws on the making of King's Bane."

The dwarf who was clapping the manacles on her wrists whispered into her ear, "You hear that, traitor? _Attempted_ murder. It best stay that way. For your sake."

Oreius continued. "You will be brought to Cair Paravel and tried in front of a jury of your peers. Your home will be searched, and all evidence confiscated. Signed, Queen Susan the Gentle, Lady of the Southern Sun." He handed the scroll back. Then he walked forward, and leaned down so that his torso was parallel with the ground and his face was just above Abagaila's. "Pray to Aslan for mercy," the General said in a low, menacing whisper. "For you shall receive none from us."


	9. Chapter 9

**Title:** King's Bane  
**Summery:** Its Edmund's 13th Birthday. But all's not well, what with a rebellion rising in Narnia and the White Witch appearing everywhere he looks…set in the Golden Age  
**Author:** Ultra-Geek  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Chronicles of Narnia, but I do love it. You hear me? I love Chronicles of Narnia! (_Jumps on Oprah's couch_)  
**Rating:** T  
**AN –** Sorry about the wait. But I have to finish reading and journalizing about the Crucible and read and journal the Scarlet Letter by September 2nd. Yeah. I procrastinated just a little bit…

* * *

_"I am not afraid of pain, nor of sorrow. But this loneliness, this futility, this emptiness – I dare not face them." – Ruth Benedict

* * *

_

Lucy and Susan stood in the courtyard and watched as the arrest party returned. They couldn't help but notice that the Apothecary looked much more harried and bruised then the last time they saw her. She looked up, and once she met the Queens eyes, looked hurriedly back at the ground. Philip trotted over as the Monkey was escorted to the dungeon. When he saw their questioning looks, he managed to smirk – quite a feat for a Horse. "She…ah, resisted." he said, before trotting off.

"Where's he going off to?" Lucy said aloud.

"Back to his post," answered Oreius, coming to join them.

"Post?"

The centaur nodded. "He is helping guard King Edmund, naturally."

"Did you find anything?" Susan asked, deciding not to beat around the bush.

"Oh, yes. She's without a doubt the assassin. We have…evidence." said Oreius. He motioned with his fingers and one of the fauns trotted forward with a wooden box. Oreius took it and then handed it to Susan. He looked grim. "They're letters."

"We'll have to go over these." Lucy said, peering over her sister's shoulder as Susan flipped through the piles. "Oreius, where can we do that without any interruptions?"

"Perhaps the War Room?"

They stayed there for an hour with Oreius helping. They read with growing and growing horror through the letters, as the conspirators discussed different poisons for 'eliminating the false King', and through the collection – spanning the entirety of their reign – of the ingredients to concoct the King's Bane.

"They call themselves the Free Narnians," Lucy said. "And I haven't seen any names yet."

"No," Oreius agreed. "But look, this one," – he pointed to a signature – "That calls himself – or herself – 'a Free Narnian' seems to be their leader. All the rest are 'one of your fellows in arms', or 'the freed minds of the West'."

However, it wasn't until they reached one of the ones folded near the bottom that they really became appalled.

Susan froze, her hand covering her mouth while the other limply held the letter. She half stood from her chair, teetered slightly, and then sat back down again with an audible thump. Not once did her blue eyes leave the parchment in front of her. "Susan?" Lucy asked. "Su, what's wrong? You're scaring me."

"They're here," Susan whispered. "They have someone here. There are Free Narnians in Cair Paravel! Look!"

Oreius was all ready moving. "Stay here, your Majesties. I will assign you guards. I will also inform King Peter."

The girls barely even heard him.

* * *

Later that night, Peter had only left Edmund's side once, and then, only for a moment. He would not eat, would not sleep, and had barely responded to the news that there was a traitor in Cair Paravel, save to swiftly eject Leon and Ritnik from the room. And so Susan, having tired of just sitting in silence with her brothers, sought out Lucy. Her guard – hand picked by Oreius – trailed along behind her.

But she found her sister in the most unlikely place. Susan had suspected her to be on the beach speaking with the mer-folk, for they could never abide to have Lucy upset. Yet, it was in the room where they had planned to give Edmund his birthday presents that she found her little sister. Susan could vaguely recall Peter telling him they'd give him their gifts once the party was over. It seemed so long ago, when it was only a matter of days.

"Lucy?" Susan asked. "What are you doing in here?"

"We never got to give him his birthday presents," said Lucy quietly. She had Susan's gift to Edmund – a weighty book on Narnian laws – in her lap and she was looking at it almost despairingly. "He would have loved this, you know."

"I thought so." Susan sat beside her little sister, taking her hand and squeezing it. "Normally the particulars of laws bore me a little," she confided. "But this was interesting, even to me."

Lucy nodded, tracing the patterns inlaid on the cover with her finger. But she said nothing.

"Lucy, he's going to be fine." Susan said. But she heard her voice waver ever so slightly. "And soon as he's back to his old self, we'll make sure he gets his presents."

"Susan," Lucy pressed. She glanced over at her gift to Edmund. It was a shield, made of the finest metals and leathers in all of Narnia. She knew that Edmund preferred to use two swords, but she'd always wondered what would occur if he happened to lose his grip on one. He would be left defenseless, and his old shield wasn't of much use to him anymore. "What if he doesn't…?"

"He will." Susan said forcefully. "He's going to be perfectly all right, Lucy."

There just wasn't another option.

* * *

Oreius pushed the door open to Edmund's room. Peter barely glanced up. "Your Majesty," he said with a slight bow.

"What do I do, Oreius?" Peter asked, his voice rough. "Who do I believe and how can I tell who tried to ki – hurt Edmund? Susan told me about that letter, the one from 'the silent majority' or something of that sort. They could be anyone. What do I do?"

"Your Majesty," Oreius said. "I wouldn't trust anyone save for yourself and your siblings."

"Not even you?" Peter asked.

Oreius nodded grimly.

"Oreius, that is ridiculous." said the High King. "If you wanted Edmund de…out of the way, you had more chances to do it than anyone else. And if I can't trust you, then there really is no hope left."

The centaur held up a hand. "You said it not a moment ago, your Majesty – this 'silent majority' could be anyone, though they all seem to be written by the same hand. My council is to trust only your family," said Oreius. Then, after a moment of consideration, he grudgingly added, "And perhaps Philip."

"I trust you Oreius," Peter said, he redirected his eyes at Edmund. "Nothing will change that."

Oreius sighed. "As you will, your Majesty," he said, bowing and backing from the room.

And so the shifts started with whom would stay with Edmund. First it was Peter and Lucy, and then Peter and Susan, and then Susan and Philip because Susan made Peter go and make himself sleep or be useful, and finally Oreius and one of the Queens, plus Peter.

And the moon passed over the skies, no one in the Cair slept save for one. And the first day passed.

* * *

"I think we must let Leon come in here," Susan said the next morning. The three conscious monarchs gathered in Edmund's room.

"He might be one of _them_," Peter said. "After all, he tried to say that Edmund wasn't poisoned by King's Bane, didn't he? He would've destroyed him if we'd listened."

"But he's the only one who can help Edmund," pointed out Susan. "And Peter, didn't you say that Rannoch was the one who thought it was that other one, Lyviathan and Leon simply agreed based upon what he knew at the time? Are we to point our fingers at anyone who might've made an innocent mistake?"

"An innocent mistake, or a calculated plan?" Peter shot back. "Susan, we have no idea who these people are. Like Oreius said yesterday – no one but ourselves is to be trusted!"

"But – " Lucy tried to stop them, but Susan pressed on.

"So that's it then?" Susan said. Her face was pale, but her cheeks flushed red in anger. "We sit by and not let anyone else in? We're not healers. We won't know if something goes wrong, Peter! And if Leon was one of the Free – one of them, then why did he reveal Treehopper? Wouldn't it have been to his benefit not to turn her in?"

"I suppose, but – "

"And look at him!" Susan pointed over at Edmund, who throughout the entire argument hadn't moved an inch. "Peter, don't you understand? What more can they possibly do? This is just as much our fault, my fault! I should've known. We should've figured out that we had a rebellion before this! You're in charge of the military – why didn't you know that there was someone trying to assassinate Edmund?"

"So now you're blaming me?" Peter retorted, his voice strained.

"Be quiet, both of you!" Lucy cut in. "Why do you always do this? Whenever something bad happens, you two always do this! Stop blaming Peter, Susan, it isn't like he helped poison Edmund. And Peter, stop beating yourself up! None of us could have stopped this from happening, all right? Remember what Aslan said: What's done is done. Now all we can do is move forward."

Susan's answer was to sweep from the room. Peter pulled a chair closer to Edmund's side and sat down with a thump, crossing his arms and leaning forward. Lucy sighed. And to think, she still didn't know what to do about letting Leon near her brother…

And the second day came and went, with many tense silences and awkward politeness. Finally, though, it ended with a teary hug (which involved Peter and Susan) and a sigh of relief (issued from Lucy and the rest of Cair Paravel).

* * *

The door was staring at him.

Peter ran his hand through his hair, blowing a hard puff of air out through his nose. Why was he here? Peter had been asking himself that for the last several moments. Whenever he went anywhere – though it was always brief, for he wouldn't leave Edmund alone for too long – he somehow managed to take the route that led him past the door to Cair Paravel's dungeons. The dungeons where the Monkey was.

He would pause, his strides would slow, and he would blink at the door before continuing on his way. It haunted his thoughts, his dreams. All Peter wanted to do was go through it, to rant and yell and scream at the dungeon's lone inhabitant. To demand an answer, to demand justice. To force her to talk, and make that…that thing feel every ounce of agony that not only Edmund had to endure, but all of the suffering he was going through, that Susan and Lucy were going through. Nothing, Peter thought, would give him more pleasure than to do that. But he couldn't bring himself to pull upon the knob and walk down the stairs.

No, he decided. It wasn't that the door was staring at him. It was flat out _mocking_ him. But not today. Not this time. Now, Peter looked furtively over his shoulder and then before he could stop himself, yanked that doorway open and stepped inside.

Peter stopped at the top of the stairs. The dungeon at Cair Paravel had, prior to Treehopper's confinement, only been used once before during their reign – and, ironically, it hadn't even been for criminals. Pirates had attacked and briefly held the two King's hostage there, but that is another story entirely. Unfortunately for the Monkey, the memory did little to improve King Peter's mood. They stared at each other for a moment, before the Apothecary diverted her eyes. "Your Majesty," she said quietly.

"Why?" It was all Peter could manage to get out. The thoughts he'd had before, the ones of righteous fury, the planned tirades and carefully plotted speeches all flew from his head. He clenched his jaw and fists, looking sideways at the wall. It repulsed him to even see her, to be in the same room as her.

He heard Treehopper sigh, heard her chains clank against the stony wall. "Because," came her almost inaudible reply. "I believe in…in a _free_ Narnia."

Peter felt his mouth drop open, his tongue searching fruitlessly for something, _any_thing, to say. But it was useless, and so he strode from the dungeon, the door slamming behind him. Thus, he didn't see the Monkey bow her head and weep.

Peter stormed his way up the stairs until he found an unoccupied room. He locked himself in, and allowed himself to break. After several minutes of sobbing into his arm, biting the sleeve to keep from making a sound, he pushed himself to his feet and walked out. It was time to return to his brother.

But Susan was waiting for him outside of the door.

"Oreius said you went and talked to the Apothecary earlier," said Susan quietly. At Peter's surprised look, she explained, "He saw you go in. And come out again."

"Yes," Peter looked down at his hands and then

"I almost did. Go and talk to Treehopper, I mean." Susan said. "Mister Tumnus is keeping Lucy occupied; apparently she said something about wanting to as well."

Peter shook his head. "Don't bother."

"I won't," Susan said. "I don't think that I could."

They fell into silence. "You know what she said to me, Su? What she said when I asked her why she did it?" Susan didn't answer, and merely squeezed Peter's hand slightly. Peter gave a barking laugh, one that was hollow and devoid of any humor whatsoever. It was the desperate laugh of one trying not to break down and sob. "She said it was because she believed in 'a free Narnia'. A free Narnia!"

Susan didn't have an answer. She looked out the window at the sunset. It was beautiful, lighting and dancing upon the distant trees of the Western Woods. It was also terribly, awfully wrong. Why should the sun be so pleased with itself when her brother lay motionless, possibly dying? She turned to look at Peter, but his back was too the window, eyes trained on the still sleeping Edmund.

So ended the third day.

* * *

Peter was all but running through the halls quickly. He had all ready been gone from Edmund for twenty minutes – by the Lion! Anything could have happened! Nevermind that Oreius, Lucy, and Susan were all there. All three of them had forced him out and down into the kitchens, where the cooks were under strict order not to allow him out until he'd eaten. Peter knew a lost battle when he saw one.

But fate was not on his side. One of the guards stepped in his path with a set face and grim eyes. There were several others with him.

"High King Peter," the faun bowed and greeted.

"Yes?" Peter snapped, probably more harsh than he meant to. But it's good to remember that he was running on very little sleep, and could feel his heart clenching at the thought of what just could be happening to Edmund right now because he wasn't there to help him.

"It's the Monkey, your Majesty,"

"What about her?" snarled Peter.

"Well…she's dead, High King Peter."

Peter froze mid-step. "What? How?"

"Suicide, your Majesty" said the faun. "We found her not ten minutes ago. She managed to smuggle in some sort of tablet, and she ate it, and then…you know."

"So what you're saying is that the only lead we had is dead? That we have no idea how to find who did this to my brother because Treehopper was allowed to kill herself?" seethed Peter through clenched teeth. "That all we have are a few letters that make things worse than better and a band of _bloody_ _terrorists_ who want King Edmund dead?"

Luckily, a Sparrow fluttering into the room spared the poor faun. "Your most Highlyest Majesty sir!" it squeaked. "Queen Susan wishes you up in your most royalest brother's chambers as quicklyest as possible!"

"What's happened?" Peter said. "Is something wrong? Is Edmund all right?"

"Nothing like _that_, oh no, Majesty, oh no!" the Sparrow said, hopping excitedly. "But King Edmund has woken up! Yes, yes, yes, he has, he has!"

And as Peter ran as swiftly as he could towards Edmund's room, the sun set upon the fourth, and final, day of Edmund's slumber.

* * *

So I just realized that Edmund has been unconscious for the majority of this story...my bad.

Thank you to **ilysia** and **Amanitas **for solving the mystery of the Schnitzel Bank. It's much appreciated!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Title:** King's Bane  
**Summery:** Its Edmund's 13th Birthday. But all's not well, what with a rebellion rising in Narnia and the White Witch appearing everywhere he looks…set in the Golden Age  
**Author:** Ultra-Geek  
**Disclaimer:** I can't think of a clever disclaimer today. So pick your favorite out from the last nine…  
**Rating:** T  
**AN –** So…I really have no excuse for why this is late, 'cept for the chapter and me had several staring contests, and the chapter was definitely on a winning streak. But I won the war - if not many of the battles - and here's chapter ten. The last chapter of King's Bane, friends and foes and turncoats, is here.

Oh, and someone asked if this was slash. No, it's not. Look, here's what I think about slash: I won't bash you if you write it, but I'm not gonna read it either. Now, here's what I think about incest: No. Anyone who likes that stuff in fanfiction is obviously an only child. So, for the record, this is NOT Peter/Edmund. 'Cause honestly, that's just plain wrong.

"Seeing's Believing, but Feeling's the Truth." – Thomas Fuller

When Peter came barreling up to Edmund's door, Oreius was ready for him. The General caught him by the arm just before he flew through the open entry. "A moment, your Majesty."

"But – "

"King Edmund is not of…_sound_ mind." Oreius said. His voice was low and somber. "And before you go in, you should be prepared."

"Prepared?" Peter paled as he thought of the woods, the terrible moment where Edmund had not known him. "How bad is it?"

"He knows the Queens," Oreius said. "And seems ready to accept they are real. What he troubles over is the direct circumstances of the current situation."

"I bid you to speak plainly, Oreius."

"From what I've gathered, King Peter, King Edmund thinks himself – and the Queens – in the hands of the Witch. And as such, locked in her dungeons," Oreius explained. Peter heard the underlying emotions in the centaur's voice, and when he continued, heard the smallest whisper of remorse in his words. "He thought me to be one of Her's."

Peter sighed and braced his shoulders. "It all ready happened to me, too, Oreius. But you must let me in."

"Yes, your Majesty," the General said, dropping his arm and moving aside. Peter was very near to stampeding over him at any rate. "I just wished to warn you."

Peter hesitated for a moment – only a moment – and then pushed in.

"…Keep your eyes closed, Edmund, and listen to me," Susan was saying. Edmund had wedged himself tightly in the corner, curled up into a tight ball with his head hidden in his knees. Susan was kneeling down in front of him and Lucy was slightly behind her. Oreius, content with what protection Peter could offer, shut the door behind him as he exited the bedroom. Susan continued, "We're not in any danger."

Lucy glanced over at Peter and moved closer to him. "Su – "

Susan looked up too. She had stopped wearing the bandage on her head, and only a slight scar remained. "See, Edmund? Peter's here now too."

Edmund shuddered and said something quiet enough that Peter couldn't hear him. Susan shook her head and laid a hand on Edmund's arm cautiously. He flinched and she hastily pulled away. "No, he wasn't _captured_. None of us were."

Peter felt the lump lodge in his throat. He swallowed tightly, and then did it again. Lucy bit her lip and looked up at him before nudging him forward. Peter stumbled ahead slightly. Susan, understanding at once, stood and moved backwards. "Ed?" Peter said, hating how weak his voice sounded – how insecure it was in uttering that one single syllable.

Yet, it had an instant effect on his brother. Edmund paused in his rocking, and he stopped shaking ever so slightly.

Peter swallowed. "You're all right, Edmund. You're okay. You're safe. We've got you."

Peter couldn't hear all of Edmund's response. He just caught a few words, dungeon, ice and witch among them. It was enough.

"You need to listen to me, all right? We're not in the Witch's dungeons. We are in Cair Paravel. Someone…they tried…" Peter tapered off, wondering how you go about telling a person – let alone your brother – that there was a group of his own subjects out for his blood. "You've been poisoned, Edmund. It's affecting your judgment."

The whole assassination part could wait until later.

Edmund simply shuddered and curled even tighter in on himself.

"Remember? Out in the woods."

"I…you looked like one of…of _them_…" Edmund whispered after a moment.

"Yes, yes, exactly." Peter said. He felt almost guilty at the starting flood of relief hitting him. Finally, Edmund was listening. "The poison…it's making you see things that aren't there, Ed. We're not in the dungeons; we're in Cair Paravel. The Witch is gone. She's gone."

Edmund slowly lifted his face from where he'd buried it. Yet, he kept his eyes tightly closed. "But it…I mean…everything's so cold, Peter." He opened his eyes, and looked around. Peter didn't need to hear him say anything to know he wasn't seeing his familiar chambers. He was looking at something else, something he was just as familiar with, and something Peter had never seen.

"You're safe, Ed," Peter pressed. "We're in the Cair."

"But all there is…is ice," he whispered. Edmund turned his wide eyes to Peter, and grabbed at his brother's arms in an iron grip. There was nothing but raw fear in the youngest king's eyes, and it ripped Peter's heart out. "Only ice."

"I'll prove it." Peter said. "Susan. Lucy."

The two girls nodded, ready and eager to help in anyway.

"Leave. Edmund, tell me this: if we were in the dungeon, would they be able to go by themselves?"

"N-no,"

"Peter, are you sure you want us out?" Lucy asked. She was staring at Edmund, desperate to help.

Susan took her arm. "Let's go, Lu," she whispered gently. Then, she looked up and smiled as brightly as she could at Edmund. "See? No one's stopping us."

They walked from the room.

Edmund suddenly gasped, and seized his head with his hands. "Edmund?" Peter asked. Edmund's eyes were screwed shut, and he bit his lower lip. Peter caught the younger boy's shoulders. "Don't get lost on me, Edmund. Not again."

Edmund, quite suddenly, stopped shaking. He dropped his hands to his lap, and cautiously opened his eyes. They went from his bed, to the balcony, and over to the mirror. Then he looked at Peter. "I think I'm back," he said hoarsely.

"Good," Peter said. His voice sounded just as ragged. "Think you can get up off of the floor?"

Once Edmund was settled in his bed, Peter started to pull away to go and talk to Oreius and the girls. But Edmund's grip on his wrist stopped him. "Can you stay?" he asked. "Please? In case I…I'm confused again."

Peter mutely nodded and sat down next to him. Edmund curled up against his side, and was out in moments. Peter quietly flicked at his brother's hair, and worried about the morning.

They would have to tell Edmund sooner or later about the Free Narnians, anyway…

Edmund slept through the night. The next morning was greeted with a similar situation as the previous night, but at least it took slightly less time to talk Edmund out of it. He was shaky, and sick to his stomach after.

Peter made him eat anyway. After all, it had been four days, and Edmund was much to skinny for his liking. Susan and Lucy came to join in on his first 'meal', if you could call it that. They perched on the end of his bed and chattered on, and Peter leaned idly against a wall. As Edmund nibbled at the toast, he glanced up at Peter. "You said I was poisoned."

Inwardly, Peter cursed. Of course, Edmund would bring this up right away. So, instead of talking, Peter nodded. He knew it was in vain, but he wanted to delay this conversation as long as possible. The girls watched anxiously.

Edmund cleared his throat and set the toast aside. He picked at the blankets on his bed. "Who?"

After a round of glances was exchanged (Peter at Susan, then Susan at Lucy, then Lucy at Peter, and then Peter at Lucy and Lucy at Susan), Peter sighed. He started to talk, and Lucy or Susan would add in bits and details. When he came to Edmund's escape, he hesitated and glanced over at Susan.

Edmund noticed, and looked too. It took all of Susan's willpower not to let her hand rise to her head. "I stepped out of the room for a moment," she supplied. "And when I came back, you were gone."

Edmund stared at her for a hard moment, and then looked back at Peter as he continued. When the horrid tale was done, Edmund was very quiet. His silence unsettled Peter to an alarming degree. When it came to Edmund, the louder he was about something, the less important it was. The quieter, the more. And Peter had no idea how to find out what was going through his head. "I'm rather tired," he said after a moment. "Maybe I should sleep."

Another round of glances was shared between the other three rulers. Susan and Lucy left, but Peter pulled up a chair. "You've slept enough," he said. "Talk."

"I hurt Susan, didn't I?" Edmund asked quietly, not looking at Peter.

Peter hesitated, his thoughts going to the faint scar on her forehead. The Healers said that it too, would be gone in a few weeks. Susan had been wearing her hair in a way that mostly hid it, but Edmund didn't miss much of anything. "What makes you say that?"

"No one will let she nor Lucy alone in here," he said. "And I had this dream…and I think I…I remember when…" Edmund trailed off, biting at his lip.

"You weren't in your right mind, Ed," Peter said gently.

"That's what everyone keeps saying about everything," said Edmund. Peter was taken aback at the bitterness in his voice. "'You weren't thinking straight', or 'it wasn't like you meant to,' and 'you were hallucinating, you can't be blamed'. I read about King's Bane. It pulls things out from your own mind, Peter, and makes them real. So then who else is to blame but myself?"

"Edmund, you were poisoned." Peter cut in. "The blame goes entirely to those…those _traitors_. Not you nor anyone else"

Edmund got an odd look on his face. The oldest Pevensie felt his stomach drop as he thought about his exact word choice. "But are they? I'm a traitor, too." Edmund said. Peter could hear the barely contained tears thickening his voice. His hands clenched the covers in tight fists. "Maybe…Maybe I deserved – "

"No! Edmund, don't say that!" he snapped at him. "Do not even _think_ it."

"You don't know," Edmund's voice became ragged. "You don't understand. You don't know!"

And out it came, tumbling and told in broken sobs and rushed mumblings. Of when he first came to Narnia, and was thrown into the snow by Her dwarf servant and then the Turkish Delight. Of leaving the Beavers and arriving at the palace only to find the gravity of what he'd just done. Of sitting in the icy cell and finding Mister Tumnus, how he didn't know what to do and made a mess of things and the betrayal in the faun's eyes. Of hours and hours stretching on forever and the most intense cold he'd ever felt that were punctuated only by brief periods of abuse and heartache from the Witch and Her servants. Of how he tried to help the Fox Giles but ended up only making things worse. He rushed through the freezing of the Christmas Tea Party, and how he tried to stop Her, really, but it didn't work. Of feeling the sting of Her whip and blows, attempting to convince himself none of this was real; it was a dream – it had to be a dream. He told Peter that he honestly thought he would die, bound to a tree and gagged. That he deserved to die after all that he'd done. But then suddenly how the ropes were gone and he was being carried away, and how all Edmund could think of was that this couldn't be right, that this wasn't right. That he shouldn't be rescued because who would ever want to rescue something as vile and disgusting as himself? He told his brother everything that he'd been desperately trying to push aside for the past three years.

Edmund told Peter, how even now as he walked through Cair Paravel, he would find himself staring listlessly out of the window towards where Her palace used to stand, with the sickly sweet taste of Turkish Delight dancing on his tongue.

Edmund pushed on to that first nightmare and the second, and then seeing the Witch at the back of the party. How all he could think about after that was getting away, and he'd even hurt Susan, his own sister, and even if he didn't know that it was her it didn't excuse anything. He told Peter about running and running and never being able to go fast enough. "And all I could think of was that if She got me, that if I couldn't get away, then it would be like last time and I wouldn't be able to stop it, because I haven't changed, not really, and I'd just sell everyone out again and She would ki…you'd all be de…and it would be because of me!"

Somewhere during his tirade, Peter had pulled Edmund into his lap and gently rocked him back and forth. "Oh, Edmund," Peter whispered into his hair as his brother's words gave way to wordless weeping. "Ed, Ed, Edmund."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Edmund repeated into his sleeve. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

Nothing Peter said could make him stop apologizing. He continued until his breath evened out and deepened, his voice faded to past a whisper, and he fell into the exhausted slumber of one utterly spent. But Peter continued to rock him, holding Edmund to his chest. He picked up his little brother's mantra.

"I'm sorry, Edmund, I'm sorry."

* * *

Miles away, not to far from the late Abagaila Treehopper's tree, an elderly dwarf was hobbling through the woods. She was leaning heavily on a knarled walking stick that seemed to be just as ancient as she was. Just behind her, a young centaur with cropped, golden hair carefully picked his way over the dark landscape.

"Curse these old legs," the dwarf moaned. She looked back at the centaur. "I don't suppose you could give an old girl a lift, eh?"

"I've carried you from the Cair," he muttered. "And that was disgrace enough, Grandmother Dwarf."

"Youth these days," she said, shaking her head and pushing onward. "Nothing but lip. Ah, here we are!"

They stood at the edge of a clearing. The dwarf rapped on a nearby tree with her staff. "Rannoch? Permission to enter your Home Meadow?"

The stag emerged from the shadows on the opposite side. "Granted," he called. His voice was thick and low – a sure indication of his emotions. Rannoch's liquid eyes landed on the centaur. "Tibus. Did you make her walk all of this way?"

The dwarf smiled smugly.

Tibus crossed his arms and pouted slightly. "I carried her to the Woods' edge."

Rannoch shook his antlers. "Youth," he said.

The dwarf nodded sagely. "Exactly what I said."

Rannoch then looked to the dwarf. "I take it you're here as the bearer of some sort of dreadful news, yes?"

She pursed her lips. "I'm afraid so, sir. The false king is suffering, to be sure. Every time he wakes from even the faintest slumber he slips into dreams. But he'll live."

Rannoch nodded. "We always knew that there would be some chance of this failing. We just got carried away. And Abigaila…"

The conspirators fell silent. Then Tibus stamped a hoof against the grass. "Treehopper was a crazy fool anyway. She should have – _Ow_!"

The dwarf lowered her walking stick. Tibus reached down and quietly rubbed his sore foreleg, glaring at her. "Don't speak of the dead as such."

"You would do well to listen, Tibus," said Rannoch. "For Ritnik is right. Abagaila was a dear friend, and a true believer in our cause."

Ritnik nodded once. "What are we to do now, though, sir? The Cair knows someone's after _him_, and they don't know yet he's the enemy."

"As I was saying before, we always knew there was a chance of failure. So, I took the liberty of coming up with a back up plan." Rannoch said. Ritnik's eyes locked on his, and even Tibus seemed interested. "But we'll have to get everyone together. The Free Narnians have much work to do. Ritnik, you'll have to be our eyes again, in the Cair, and our ears. After all, it's only three months until the Traitor Sun rules the sky…"

* * *

_To be continued…_

* * *

Yeah, before you start throwing rotten vegetables and what not at me, saying 'but that didn't solve _anything_!' I would like to say that I'm aware of that (Ducks a well-aimed tomato and waves a white flag) Simply, because, I'm working on a sequel. It'll be titled 'Beneath the Traitor Sun'. There'll be lots more angst, and Free Narnians, and assassination attempts, and Mr. Tumnus' porridge, and angst, and certain innocent creatures getting framed.

…Did I mention the angst?

I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed. If I could, I'd bake you all cookies, because you make me all warm and fuzzy inside! You all rock my socks off!

Thanks for reading, and I'll hopefully see you at the sequel! Please?

(Ultra-Geek bows. The metaphoric curtain closes. The metaphoric camera angle turns to reveal that the metaphorical auditorium is empty save for a metaphoric janitor metaphorically sweeping. But, this metaphoric janitor happens to look like James McAvoy, metaphorically, so it's all good. Metaphoric Janitor James McAvoy looks up at readers. "REVIEW!" he yells.

Blackout. Metaphorically speaking, naturally)

* * *

* * *


End file.
